


The Stir of Echoes

by AlanSchezar



Series: The Zootopia Chronicles [4]
Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Family Drama, Grief, Guilt, Mystery, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-08-16 20:27:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8116378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlanSchezar/pseuds/AlanSchezar
Summary: There are some things that even the relentless march of time can never erase, and some secrets that refuse to remain buried. On a rain drenched autumn evening, with Judy out of town for work, Nick receives a chilling phone call from Jennifer Gray pleading for his help. Gideon Gray is missing, and Nick sets off on a desperate search for him that begins to uncover much more than he expected.





	1. The Voices of the Rain

"Do you know what ghosts are? They're sad, evicted things: memories without homes."

-Paul Prospero, _The Vanishing of Ethan Carter_

 

Storm clouds streaked across the sky in bars of black and gray amid the distant, fading light of a September evening. Under the turbid sky, the rain had been lashing the city for two days and nights without reprieve, and it certainly did nothing to alleviate Nick's already dark mood.

The drumming of the rain on the rag-top, the rhythmic thump of the wipers and the throaty drone of the Manta's engine were the only music he could tolerate as he cruised out over the Centennial Bridge toward the suburbs. Judy was out of town, the key note speaker at a crime prevention conference in a neighboring state, and being without her for any length of time always made him melancholic and irritable.

In the past, he might have simply gone with her, but her recent promotion meant that while Sergeant Wilde was off discussing the latest crime prevention and anti-gang strategies, Corporal Wilde had no choice but to assume the role of acting squad leader. As proud of her as he was, he couldn't help but think about how her promotion brought them one step closer to an ending: the end of being able to work together on a daily basis – it would be hard to justify putting two Sergeants in a patrol car together.

Two years had passed since their wedding, years filled with joy, love, tenderness, and a certain degree of tranquility. Of course, their work sometimes demanded that they face the ugly side of life, but their partnership, both on the streets and behind closed doors, had managed to soften many of police work's hard edges. It had enabled them to endure those dark and gritty moments with their tranquility intact.

Now, the tranquility in Nick Wilde's life was being threatened again, first by Judy's success on the Sergeant's board; then by the relentless pounding of the rain that so easily reminded him of _that night_ when he was fifteen, and all the horror that proceeded from it; and finally, by the desperate and chilling phone call he had received earlier that day.

His grip on the wheel tightened as the strange conversation surfaced again in his mind. He had received a call at his desk late in the shift, and was surprised to hear Jennifer Gray's voice on the end of the line.

“Nick...it's Jenny,” she said, her voice hesitant, faltering, as if merely speaking was an effort, “I'm sorry to bother you at work, but I need help...”

“What's wrong, Jenny?” Nick said, furrowing his brow and pushing himself back from his desk.

“It's Gid,” she said, “He's...he's gone. He hasn't been gone long enough for the Sheriffs to do anything, but I _just know_ something's wrong, Nick.” Her voice was breaking, as if she was on the verge of tears. In the past two years, he and Judy had visited Bunnyburrow several times, usually for holidays, and had gotten to know the Grays quite well. Normally, Jenny was possessed of a quiet, even-tempered spirit and wasn't easily ruffled.

“All right, I'll come right away. It's my Friday and I can get off a bit early and drive straight there,” he said, checking his watch.

“Oh thank you, Nick... _thank you!_ ” she had said, and hung up the phone without waiting to hear another word from him. There had been something unsettling in that call, an undertone of something sinister he couldn't quite put his finger on.

He had hung up the phone and departed almost immediately, pausing only to name Stagford the Officer in Charge for the few hours left in the shift and tell Clawhauser as much. Without even stopping at home first, he had driven out of the city, headed for the highway that would lead him to Bunnyburrow.

As the well groomed homes and tree lined streets of the suburbs faded among the gray curtains of rain behind him and the open fields, ramshackle barns and tumbledown fences of the countryside replaced them, he picked up his phone and hit the speed dial for Stu Hopps.

Stu, always eager to hear from his daughter and son-in-law, answered with a bright tone in his voice, “Hey, Nick! What can I do for ya?”

“Hey dad, I'm on my way to Bunnyburrow,” he said, his voice far more somber than Stu's, “I was hoping you could leave the guest house unlocked for me. I have to make some stops before I get to the farm, and I don't want to disturb you guys if I arrive late.”

“Wow, that's great! Sure, I'll leave the cottage open for you...but I thought Jude was out of town this week...” Stu said, sounding confused.

“She is. This isn't a social visit...” Nick said, hesitating for a moment before adding, “Jenny Gray called me. She told me Gideon is missing...did you know anything about this? Have you maybe heard anything from him?”

There was a stunned silence on the other end of the phone as Stu processed Nick's ominous news. “Wh...he's missing? I saw him yesterday...” Stu said hesitantly, “I don't understand...”

“Neither do I, to be honest,” Nick said, flicking on his blinker to take the exit off the highway toward flame streaked skies over Bunnyburrow, where the storm had yet to reach, “But Jenny sounded really shaken up – said she was certain Gideon was missing – you know she's pretty even keeled.”

“Yeah...” Stu said slowly, pausing before he added, “Well, hopefully it's nothing...maybe he did a delivery out of town and had engine trouble or something…?”

“Maybe,” Nick said, “You noticed anything unusual about him lately?”

“No...well, actually, now that you mention it, he's been kinda down the last week or so,” Stu said, speaking slowly, as if mulling over his thoughts as he spoke them, “But he gets that way every now and then, you know? Usually it just goes away after a while and he's back to his usual cheerful self. I asked him about it once, but he didn't seem keen to tell me anything, so I just let it be.”

“Hmmm,” Nick said, furrowing his brow and mulling over what Stu and Jenny had told him, which didn't amount to much, “Okay, dad, thanks for letting me use the cottage. I'll probably see you tomorrow sometime.”

“Breakfast at seven, as always!” Stu said, resuming his pleasant, light-hearted tone, “I'll have Bon whip up something nice for you!”

“See ya,” Nick said, ending the call and tucking his phone back into the pocket of his jacket.

Within a half an hour, the Manta rolled to a stop on the gravel drive of the Gray house. Nick opened the door and stepped out, resting his paw over edge of the driver's side window for a moment as he looked up at the clouds. He thought he might have outrun the storm, but a fitful wind had driven it along, dogging his path, until it caught up with him at last. It would only be a matter of time before the rain began to fall.

Turning his attention to the house, he examined the aged, but well loved exterior. A small non-rabbit farmhouse built at the turn of the last century, it featured a wraparound front porch, clapboard siding and three gabled windows jutting from the slanted roof. Its outer cladding was painted in a vibrant yellow with the window frames, railings and other decorative details picked out in white. In the light of day, it was cheerful and full of life. Now, bathed in the sickly, dying light of a fading sunset veiled in storm clouds, its windows dark save for the fragile light glowing in the parlor, it took on a sinister appearance.

Shutting the door of his car, Nick thrust his paws into the pockets of his black bomber jacket, the wind ruffling the fleece collar as he strode up the drive to the well worn steps. The boards creaked under his footpaws as he approached the door. He reached out to knock, but to his surprise it swung wide, revealing the haggard, weary eyed form of Jenny Gray.

She was dressed in jeans and a sage green button up shirt with a knitted Afghan clutched around her shoulders. The fingertips of her left paw played over a gold locket she wore around her neck. The tips of her long, elegant prick ears drooped slightly, and there was tension in her jaw.

“Nick! Thank goodness...” she said, “I'd been waiting for you...thank you so much for coming. Please, come in.” She stepped back, inviting him inside.

“Of course, Jenny, but what makes you so sure Gideon's missing?” Nick said, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. She led him to the front parlor where a small fire crackled in the hearth. Taking up the rocking chair on one side, she gestured to a plush arm chair opposite. He had been about to sit down when the pattering of little footpaws on the polished hardwood floor accompanied by a lilting giggle announced the arrival of a very excited Ashley.

“Uncle Nick!” she shouted, throwing her pajama clad arms around his middle and hugging him tightly, “Where's Auntie Judy?”

“She's out of town for work, sweetheart,” Nick said, kneeling and patting her between the ears with a warm smile, “Just old Uncle Nick this time.”

“Ashley, now you are supposed to be in bed, young lady,” Jenny said, trying to sound stern, but unable to keep the smile from curling across her muzzle at the sight of her sweet daughter.

“I know, sorry, Mama, but I couldn't help it! I couldn't sleep because Daddy's not home yet,” she cast a worried look at Nick, then back at her mother, “Do you think he's okay?”

“I'm sure he's just fine, Ash,” Nick said, not really convinced even as he said it, “He probably just had car trouble or something. I'm gonna see if I can't go find him and give him a ride home. You'd better get to bed, now.”

The golden eyed kit looked up at him, clasping her paws behind her back and regarding him with a demure smile that could have melted the coldest heart. “Okay, Uncle Nick,” she said, “As long as you promise to stay and visit once you help Daddy.”

“Sure, sweetheart,” Nick said, “Now head on up to bed and get some sleep.”

Ashley giggled and darted away. The sound of her soft steps proceeded up the stairs and faded away. Nick lingered, listening and watching for a moment with the traces of his wistful smile still on his lips, before turning back to the offered chair and sinking into it.

“She sure took a shine to you and Judy,” Jenny commented, watching him with a faint smile on her muzzle, “You'll make a fine daddy some day.”

“That seems a very unlikely scenario,” Nick said with a wry smirk, casting his gaze over the flickering embers of the fire and leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees, “At least in the natural way...but then again, miracles happen I guess.”

“Miracles happen,” Jenny said with a pensive nod, “And then there's always adoption. By the way, I have the kettle on, would you care for some tea?”

“Chamomile, if you have it, thanks,” Nick said, “So, tell me what's been going on lately.” He turned his emerald gaze back to the tawny vixen, unconsciously pressing his fingertips together between his knees.

“Well, every now and then, Gid gets into these moods...real gloomy and quiet. He's been like that for a week or so now,” she said, casting her gaze to the flames as she spoke, “I've asked him about it, of course, and he just tells me it's on account of his family. This isn't something we speak of much; I don't think he's ever told a soul but me. His father was a real mean drunk...he used to whup on Gid and his momma somethin' fierce when he was on the booze, which was a lot of the time.”

A look of surprise washed over Nick's features, “I'm...I'm so sorry to hear that...”

“It's hard for me to imagine, because the Gid I know has always been the kindest, gentlest, sweetest mammal I've ever met, but when he was a boy, he had a mean streak a mile wide.”

A faint chuckle escaped Nick's throat as he too had a hard time picturing the soft spoken baker as a bully. “Speaking of streaks, I hear he even left some on Judy's face once,” Nick remarked absently, watching the flames dance.

A frown came over Jenny's features, her voice lowering slightly as she spoke, “Gid always frets that you hold that against him...”

Nick looked up with a start; he had been lost in thought as he watched the fire. “What? Of course not! Gideon was only a child when he did that...” he said, a pained look washing over his face, “Besides, I'd be an awful hypocrite if I held that against him. When Judy and I first met, I said some things to her that cut deeper than any child's claws ever could...she never held it against me.”

The shrill, insistent whistle of the kettle interjected itself into their conversation, so Jenny rose to attend to it. She returned several minutes later carrying two saucers with cups of tea. She set one down on the small side table next to Nick's chair, then resumed her seat in the rocking chair. She began to rock slowly, sipping her tea and looking expectantly at Nick.

“So, tell me, when was the last time you saw Gideon?” Nick said, fishing his notebook and pen from inside his jacket.

“Well, he left this morning at the usual time, about eight thirty. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, except, like I said, he's been in a mood the last while,” Jenny began, setting her tea aside and folding her paws in her lap, “Often I bring him a hot lunch and spend a bit of time with him at the shop. When I went there around twelve thirty, the shop was shut. Sometimes he goes on unexpected deliveries, so it wasn't so strange a thing. Also, his car was still parked out back and the delivery van was gone, so I naturally assumed that must be what happened.”

Nick scribbled furiously, interspersing his note taking with sips of tea. He nodded to her, “Okay, so then at what point did you start to think something was wrong?”

“When he didn't arrive home for supper, I was worried, but another hour after that with no call, I was certain,” she said, “He never misses Ashley's bedtime...he always reads her a story and tucks her in. No chance he would miss that without at least calling.”

Nick paused a moment, tapping his pen on his chin. “Nothing unusual at the shop, as far as you saw?” he said, sitting back and setting aside his notepad and pen. He took up his teacup and saucer, sipping and regarding her over the rim.

“No, nothing I saw,” she said.

“I assume you called around to make sure he wasn't just visiting friends or something?”

“Of course.”

Nick set his cup and saucer down, having polished off most of the tea. He stared with a furrowed brow into the dying embers in the fireplace for a moment. “You have a set of keys for the shop here?” he said, casting a glance at her.

She nodded in response.

“Mind if I go poke around a bit and see what I can see?” he said.

“The alarm is to the left of the back door,” Jenny said, “The password is ‘berrypie.’”

“That's hilarious,” Nick said with a chuckle, rising from his seat, “And painfully obvious.”

She shrugged and smiled faintly, “Ehh. This is Bunnyburrow.”

He thrust his paws into his pockets and regarded her for a moment. “Hey, before I go, let me grab some more wood for you,” he said, “Out back?”

“Yep. The axe is in the stump if you can't find any pieces small enough. Thanks, Nick.”

He strolled out the back door, pausing to regard the grassy expanse of the yard. The sky was a roiling, rapidly darkening sea of gray clouds. At the end of the yard stood a large oak tree, it's branches bare, the swing hanging from one of its limbs swaying in the stiff wind. There was a stump not far from the door, its top chewed up from repeated blows of the axe that produced the large woodpile stacked nearby. There was, however, no axe as Jenny had said there would be. Nick gathered an armload of smallish logs, casting a few more glances around to see if the axe had fallen or been misplaced, but there was no sign of it. The rain began to fall just as he ducked back inside the house.

He moved to the side of the hearth, setting down the pile and tossing a couple of fresh logs on the embers and weak flames. Arranging the logs and embers with the poker encouraged the fire to burst back to life again. “It's a nasty storm brewing up out there,” Nick said, not particularly addressing her, “Didn't want to leave you without a fire.”

Straightening himself to his full height, he turned his gaze from the fire to her. Noticing his attention, she raised her eyes from their absent stare to fix on his.

“I'll let you know if I find anything out,” he said, “If not...I'll file a missing mammal report with the Sheriffs tomorrow. Until then, try to get some sleep if you can, okay?”

She nodded and smiled warmly at him, “Thank you, Nick...I feel better already knowing you're looking for him.”

He nodded and turned on his heel, heading out the front door. Dashing down the steps, he jumped into the car and fired up the engine, turning and heading rapidly out of the driveway and down the road to town.

Nick arrived a short while later at the back lot of Gideon's bakery. Apart from the light cast by a few street lights and shop windows, the darkness was heavy, as if it had a substance of its own. He stepped out of his car into the steady rain, quickly shutting the door and pulling his coat tight around him. Gideon's green Coyota Excel was still parked in the spot reserved for it. He pulled out his flashlight and examined the doors and interior; nothing seemed amiss. He tried the door handle and found it securely locked.

Turning, he approached the back door of the shop, its blank metal surface illuminated by a small porch light set into the wall above it. Fishing the keys from his pocket, he unlocked it and stepped inside. The shop was dimly lit, the lights left partially on to deter burglars, but there was more than enough illumination to find and deactivate the alarm system. The light switch was beside it, so Nick flicked it on to get a full view of the interior.

Nothing looked immediately wrong or out of place, but three years on the beat had taught Nick to see past the surface and look for the tiny details, the little things that whispered of the hidden and unseen. A bag of flour stood open on the counter, along with a pie pan and a small paring knife laid on a wood cutting board. Something glistened on the blade, interrupting the smooth metallic surface.

Nick examined it closer and found it to be blood – two tiny drops smeared on the blade, and a couple more on the counter. It couldn't have been serious – the first aid cabinet attached to the wall nearby appeared undisturbed, and there was no blood anywhere else save those few minuscule drops. Everything else in the kitchen appeared orderly.

Moving to the front of the shop, Nick passed out from behind the counter into the seating area. All the tables and chairs were arranged quite neatly, though they hadn't been put up on the tables for the night, which would have been typical for most cafes and restaurants. The windows at the front of the shop were pristine and Nick could see the door was locked from the inside, the neon 'open' sign in the window shut off.

Turning on his heel, he paused a moment, looking over the room. A ledger book stood open on the counter beside the register. He moved to it and examined the pages – there were no out of town deliveries scheduled for that day or the following one, and no other entry that might offer a clue to Gideon's whereabouts. Nick tapped his index finger on the page of the book a few times, wracking his brain.

Glancing around, he noticed the baseball sized black dome of a security camera in the corner of the ceiling behind the counter. It appeared to be positioned so as to be able to see the both the register and at least part of the front window and door.

Immediately, Nick strode to the back of the shop again, locating a small office attached to the kitchen. Trying the door, he found it locked; he pulled out the keys and checked them, finding one marked 'office.' He turned the key and opened the door.

The office was a smallish one with a simple wooden desk in the center and a ragged rolling chair behind it. The walls on either side of the narrow window were flanked with filing cabinets. The top of the desk bristled with photo frames as well as a phone, computer monitor, and an old coffee tin with pencils and pens sticking out.

Behind the desk, tucked into a corner, was the monitor and console for the security camera system. Being such a small shop, there were only five cameras, their views displayed on the monitor – the one Nick had seen, one aimed directly at the back door, one in the corner of the office, one outside the front door and one outside the back.

Taking a seat in the chair, Nick found that the frames contained not less than four pictures of Ashley, two of Jenny, and two of the three of them together. He quickly checked the drawers and flipped through a notepad laying by the phone. Nothing.

Turning the chair around, Nick typed rapidly on the console and selected the camera showing the front counter, eating area and front window. Setting the time stamp to 08:30, he fast forwarded it to about a quarter to nine and found Gideon appearing from the kitchen. Running through the footage from that point, everything seemed normal, with customers coming and going and Gideon warmly greeting each in turn. He would go back and forth to the kitchen periodically, baking fresh pies, presumably, returning each time a customer entered.

It wasn't until the time stamp read 11:16 that something unusual happened: Gideon had been sitting quietly on his stool behind the counter when he started violently, standing up and nearly knocking over his stool in the process. He ran to the front door and stepped outside into the street. About a minute and a half went by before he re-entered, but his face was very different than it had been all morning: his ears were tucked back behind his head, his brow knitted and his muzzle drawn into a tight lipped frown. He stroked his right thumb over his left paw in an unconscious self-soothing gesture. Everything about his form spoke of deep agitation being suppressed under tremendous effort.

Something in the back of Nick's mind told him he had missed something, so he rewound the footage and watched it again. It wasn't until the third viewing that he caught it; just before Gideon was startled, a shadow passed by the front window. It was very brief and indistinct, barely visible in the frame, but it was there. It appeared that someone had passed by the shop window, possibly someone that Gideon recognized, and he had run to catch them before they departed.

With a furrowed brow, Nick continued to trace Gideon’s movements through the shop. He seemed to linger indecisively at the front counter for several minutes, his tail twitching with sharp, jerky movements, his fingers drumming the counter, his ears flicking at intervals. Finally, a decision seemed to grip him and he disappeared into the kitchen. Nick checked the other cameras, but he was outside their viewing range, presumably working in the prep area. It wasn’t until 12:10 that Gideon reappeared in the front of the shop, rushing to lock the door and turn off the open sign. Nick noticed that he had a small scrap of something white wrapped around his index finger of his left paw – paper towel, maybe?

Gideon’s final appearance on surveillance was at 12:12 as he rushed out the back door with a pie box clutched in his paws, and disappeared. Nick sat back in his chair with a deep frown, a subtle chill running down his spine as he realized that Jenny had missed Gideon by a matter of minutes. Nick couldn’t help but wonder, if she had arrived only a bit sooner, or he had left only a bit later, might Gideon be at home with his family at that very moment?

His mind swirling with troubling questions and a sense of sinister dread rising in the back of his mind, Nick stepped back into the kitchen. He paused, glancing around for a few moments until his eyes fell on the knife again. He approached the counter and bowed to sniff the cutting board’s surface. A quick glance at the compost can nearby confirmed what his nose had already told him; a small pile of bits of apple core lay at the top of the mound of scraps in the bin.

All of it was suggestive; the knife with drops of blood left out with its cutting board and dirty pie pan, the flour bag left open, the compost scraps left on the counter, the paper towel wrapped around his finger. It seemed that Gideon had hastily baked an apple pie during his interval hidden from the cameras’ watchful gaze, and had been so distracted by whatever he saw outside the shop window that he cut his finger while slicing the apples.

So great was his haste that he didn’t bother with a bandage, merely wrapping a paper towel around it, and rushed out of the shop without putting away his utensils or his flour, and without disposing of the day’s scraps in the compost bin out back. For a professional pastry chef, especially one as dedicated and passionate about his work as Gideon Gray, such oversights were very unlikely except under the most severe emotional disturbance. Whatever he saw outside the window, it shook him to his core.

With a sigh, Nick turned and headed for the back door. He activated the alarm, flicked out the lights, shut the door behind him, and locked it. He dashed to his car and jumped in, glancing at his watch; it was getting late and he hadn’t had a bite since lunch. He fired up the engine, deciding to head to Charlie’s Surf and Turf to get some food and think things over.

As he cruised through the darkened, rain slicked streets of Bunnyburrow, he turned the facts over and over in his mind. It seemed as though Gideon had intended to return some time that day from whatever errand he had gone on, because he had taken the van rather than his car. Apparently he had either changed his mind, or something had happened to actually prevent him from returning. Both options were unsettling in their own way.

He brooded over the matter as he hastily devoured his bowl of clam chowder at Charlie’s, unable to come to any definite conclusions from what he knew thus far. The theory that Gideon had seen someone he knew outside the window fit with his actions afterward – baking a pie, presumably for the animal or animals he had seen – except for one detail. In a small town like Bunnyburrow where, as Judy had once observed, everyone knows everyone else, who could Gideon have possibly seen that could have shaken him up that badly? Why the extreme haste to bake the pie and leave with it? Why, knowing that Jenny and Ashley often dropped by at lunch time, would he not call and tell his wife he’d be out?

Everything Nick had come to know about Gideon Gray over the past two years showed that he was a devoted, attentive, and loving husband and father. The forest of picture frames that littered his desk confirmed as much. Yet the fact of the matter was that he had dropped everything and vanished from his shop at lunch time, and still was nowhere to be found at nearly ten at night, never having breathed a word about it to his wife. No violence was evident, and yet still he stayed away. It was, of course, possible that some foul play had occurred after his departure from the shop, but something in the back of Nick’s mind was telling him that Gideon’s actions could only mean one thing: he was hiding something.

As he drove slowly through the deserted streets toward the farm, having puzzled and fretted over the strange situation for an hour at Charlie’s to no avail, another, rather distasteful thought crossed his mind. Was it possible that Gideon was having an illicit affair? Could the figure outside the window have been his mistress, or perhaps an old flame whose sudden appearance awakened latent passions in the unassuming fox? Could he at that moment be in the arms of a secret lover? It seemed impossible given Gideon’s apparent devotion to his family, and if he was a cheating husband, he had to be the dumbest in history; staying away so long made it almost certain he’d be caught, when he could have very easily returned sooner and given the excuse that he was making a delivery.

Nick tightened his grip on the wheel, his scowl deepening. As a police officer, he had to keep his mind open to any possibility, but he hated even entertaining the thought. He despised it especially because he knew there were some who assumed the same was true of him, just because he was a fox married to a bunny. Of course anyone who really knew them understood that he would sooner die than be unfaithful to his Judy, that indeed he had once taken a bullet for her and would again in an instant. However, once or twice during the past two years, he’d heard whispers from onlookers as they passed by together.

One such incident surfaced in his mind as he carved the turn onto the back road that led to the Hopps farm. He and Judy had been strolling through the park together, paw in paw, on a warm, sun dappled spring morning. Nick’s ear happened to be inclined in just the right direction to catch a snippet of the whispered conversation of two mountain goats standing off the side of the path.

“—bunny, married to a fox... _freakish_...plus, you just _know_ he’s gettin’ some on the sly—”

Nick had been absolutely livid. He had fixed them with a stare as cold as death and had been about to march over and tear a strip up one side of them and down the other, when he felt Judy suddenly grasp his arm. When he looked back at her, she had the most beautiful, placid smile on her face, and gave a faint shake of her head. To her, such comments were meaningless ignorance not even worth noticing.

If the genesis of the thought caused him annoyance, the image in his minds eye of Judy’s knowing, magnificent, unflappable smile washed it all away and replaced it with a feeling of warmth and yearning. It was just one of millions of ways she constantly made him fall in love with her over and over again.

He focused on the memory of that smile as he turned into the driveway at the farm, using it as a kind of mental talisman to ward off the dark, sinister thoughts that threatened to converge again on his mind. He would sleep on it, he decided, and pay a visit to Sheriff Grounderson in the morning to file an official report of Gideon’s disappearance.

As he rounded the farmhouse on the extension of the driveway that Stu and his older sons had built, he came in sight of the cottage. Its porch light gleamed through the now drizzling rain like a lighthouse in a churning sea. He pulled the car up directly in front of the door, killing the engine. Jumping out, he locked the door and slammed it shut, dashing to the entrance of the cottage.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he entered and shut out the turbulent night. He was glad to be enveloped in the atmosphere of fond memories the cottage exuded. While it was true that not every memory attached to it was pleasant, the fact of the matter was that it was in this little house that he and Judy had confessed their love to one another for the first time. He let that thought drown out all others as he stripped off his wet clothes and headed for the shower.

Nick’s mood had much improved as he flopped into the bed, clad only in his boxers, after a long, hot shower. He sighed deeply, feeling the fatigue of the arduous day clinging at all his limbs, seeming to press him deeper into the plush comforter that covered the bed. A faint, slightly roguish smile curled his lips as he mused over how much better the bed would feel if Judy’s voluptuous form were curled up in it beside him.

Just then, his phone rang, buzzing loudly on the night stand where he had left it. His smile broadened considerably as he picked it up to see who was calling; it was a muzzletime call from Judy. He eagerly accepted the call, slipping one arm behind his head as he held the phone up with the other paw.

“Well, well, Sergeant Fluff,” he said, unable to suppress his wide grin, “You are a sight for sore eyes, let me tell you.”

She responded with a quiet, melodious chuckle and a broad smile of her own. “You too, sweetheart,” she said, “Been missing me, huh? But I only left yesterday afternoon.”

“Mmmm you have no idea...but you know you’ve been missing me too,” he replied, stretching his legs, crossing his ankles and getting comfortable.

“Mmmmayybe...” she said with a wry smile. It never failed to please him knowing that for all the intense feelings of love and desire she aroused in him, he had an equally powerful effect on her.

“How’s your conference going?” he said, hoping to steer the conversation away from any mention of his evening’s activities.

“Oh, not bad. Been feeling a little green the last little bit, but I’m thinking it might be the catering,” she said, knitting her brow slightly as a pained expression crossed her face, “It’s not the best quality, I’m afraid. We only just had the meet and greets today, but it was cool to meet law enforcement from all over. I didn’t realize that some cities are very segregated between prey and predator...just seems to be the way it is in some places. Makes you realize how special Zootopia is.”

“Did you get a chance to do much sightseeing around Zoo York yet?” he asked.

“Only a little bit,” she said with a slight shake of her head, “It’s a cool city. It’s a lot like Zootopia, actually...lots of predators and prey intermingling. I was chatting with a coyote detective from ZYPD about it, how the two cities were similar, saying it was nice to see how tensions between predator and prey animals seem to be diminishing, and he says, ‘I hear things are real progressive in Zootopia...even some inter-species relationships and whatnot.’ So I said, ‘It happens all over, it just maybe isn’t as out in the open as in Zootopia. My husband is a fox, as a matter of fact.’ He just about spit his coffee all over himself.”

She punctuated her story with a hearty laugh, no doubt recalling the look of shock on the coyote’s face. Nick frowned, imagining what kind of nasty comments might follow the detective’s spit take.

“So, what did he have to say about that?” Nick asked, his voice slightly subdued.

“Oh, he was really interested once he recovered from the initial shock. He apologized for his reaction, saying he didn’t mean anything bad, he was just really surprised. Asked me a bit about how we met and stuff. In the end, he said it was really cool that we got together in spite of all our differences.”

Nick relaxed considerably, giving a nod, “Sounds like a nice guy.”

“So, you’re in Bunnyburrow?” she said with a knowing smile, “Got so lonely you had to surround yourself with bunnies to stave off depression?”

Nick was taken aback, although he recovered a beat later; he should have known his wife’s keen observation skills would have immediately picked out the bedspread that formed his background and recognized it as belonging to the cottage.

“Heh, that’s one interpretation...” he said, avoiding discussion of the real purpose of his visit. He had long ago resolved never to lie to her, but there were times he chose to remain silent on a matter. She didn’t need any distraction from her conference; after all, there was nothing she could do about it from few hundred miles away anyhow. “You’re right about one thing, though…,” he added with a wistful smile, “I really miss you.”

“Me too...” she said softly, seeming to study the image of his eyes through the phone, a subtle expression of longing coming over her features. “That’s why I thought I’d give you a little show...”

She grinned mischievously and seemed to set the phone down on the desk, perhaps on some kind of stand. She tapped something on the desk just outside the frame and a slow, sultry piece of music began to waft through the speakers. Previously, the muzzletime shot had shown only her head and shoulders, but now she stepped back from the desk and he could see that she was clad only in a silky black set of lingerie trimmed in lace. Slowly, with an alluring smile on her muzzle, she began to sway her shapely hips in time with the music.

“Oh, Mrs Wilde,” Nick said, his voice a breathy, needful whisper, “You are trying to seduce me...and it is absolutely working.”


	2. A Distant Glade of Memory

Following the hearty breakfast Bonnie prepared for him, Nick set out early to head for the Sheriff’s department in town. The rain was holding off, but the sky was still very much a writhing, turbulent blanket of gray, and a chill wind blew through the streets. He headed through the Tim Snorton’s drive through on the way and arrived at the station with a pair of cardboard carafes and accouterments.

Sergeant Buckerton was sitting at the front desk, nonchalantly chewing his toothpick and reading the newspaper when Nick pushed open the double oak doors of the Sheriff’s office. The buck’s brow perked before a barely perceptible smile crossed his muzzle. “Mornin’, Wilde,” he said in his nonchalant drawl, “Been a while.” He paused a moment, looking Nick over before nodding toward the coffee carafes, “I see ya come bearin’ gifts...what’s the bad news?”

Nick smirked wryly, setting the carafes down on the counter to give his paws a rest. “Ever the pessimist, Sergeant,” he said, “What makes you so sure it’s bad news?”

Buckerton swung his toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other, regarding Nick with an immutably placid expression. “Welp,” he said at length, “The last time ya had any _official_ involvement with the Bunnyburrow Sheriff’s Department, the Hopps farm got shot to pieces, there were four corpses in the driveway, and y’all were hidin’ in a cellar under an exploded tractor shed.”

“Hmmm,” Nick said, scratching his chin thoughtfully, “I’ll admit you have a point there, but we did have a good time at the Roadhouse Bar last time Judy and I were here.”

“True enough,” Buckerton replied with a nod, his nonchalant expression never changing, “How is the Missus, by the way? I notice she ain’t with ya.”

“Off in Zoo York,” he said, “She recently made the Sergeant’s board and she’s the keynote speaker at the crime prevention conference there.”

Buckerton gave a solemn nod, as if affirming that all was as it should be, “I knew she’d go far. But back to the matter at hand, ya ain’t here just for a visit and a chat, are ya?”

Nick sighed, slipping his paws into his pockets. “Afraid not,” he said, “Gideon Gray is missing.”

The sergeant stopped chewing his toothpick, his mouth agape for a moment so that it nearly dropped from his lip. He recovered himself a moment later. “Ohhh boy,” he said, rising from his chair and pushing aside his paper, “Ya best come talk to Marcy.”

Nick grabbed the carafes from the counter, setting them on a desk in the middle of the office as he followed Buckteron through to a large, windowed office toward the back. The frosted door, not unlike the one on Bogo’s office, read ‘Chief Grounderson’ in gold letters. Buckerton rapped sharply three times.

“Chief, it’s Beau,” he said, “Wilde’s here to see ya; he’s got somethin’ big.”

“Ohhhh yeah, sure!” came the reply from within, “Come on in, yeah!”

Buckerton opened the door and ushered Nick inside.

The office was finished in the same stained oak paneling and plaster as the rest of the police station, with a large, wood framed window behind a beige painted steel desk with a well worn wood top. The walls were lined with filing cabinets and shelves with various awards and citations the Chief had won over the years, interspersed with a few framed recruiting posters. The squat, rounded, grinning form of Chief Grounderson sat in the rolling chair behind the desk, her brown campaign hat hung on the coat rack behind her. She rose from her seat when Nick arrived, extending her paw in invitation.

“Ohhh yeah, super to have you by, Officer Wilde!” she said, heartily shaking his paw before gesturing to the seat in front of her desk, “What can we do fer ya?”

“Corporal Wilde, now, actually,” Nick said, taking a seat, “Unfortunately, I’m not here on a social call. I really wish I was.”

“Oh yeah! Congrats to you on that!” she said, “What about the Missus? Last time _she_ was Corporal Wilde...she been promoted again, then?”

“Just made the Sergeant’s board,” Nick said, wondering if the chief would ever let him get to the matter at hand.

“Yeah, great! We’ll have to have a beer to celebrate next time,” she said, folding her paws on her desk and leaning forward slightly, “So, enough about that, tell me what’s the big thing that brings you in.”

“I came in to file a missing mammal report,” he said, fixing her with his gaze, “For Gideon Gray.”

“ _Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh...yeeeeeeeaaaaahhhhhh…_ _,_ ” Grounderson said slowly, her eyes widening with a stricken look. Nick got the distinct feeling that ‘yeah’ was standing in for a far less polite word.

“I hope you don’t take it as an insult, but Jenny called me last night and asked me to look into it,” Nick continued, crossing his arms, “I poked around the shop and checked the security footage. It appears that Gideon may have encountered someone outside his shop and then departed of his own accord shortly before twelve thirty yesterday. No signs of foul play, no word from him, and he hasn’t been seen since.”

“ _Ohhhh geeze..._ ” Grounderson said, her eyes wide as she stared at him, “No, no, actually that’s super that you checked it out for us, cuz, see, we got a little problem. We can fer sure put the APB out on Gid, but our only detective is stuck up in Podunk all the way over in Deerbrooke County helpin’ out on a triple zooicide there, and what with the Carrot Days festival comin’ up next week, we’re totally strapped fer deputies as it is...”

“Sheriff, with all due respect, I believe something very serious has happened to Gideon...” Nick pressed, “It’s totally out of character for him to just leave his family without a word...this isn’t something that can be ignored.”

“No, no, fer sure not!” Grounderson said, awkwardly scratching at the back of her head and looking chagrined, “I know it’s probably out of line to ask this, but I have nobody left to spare but a few rookies...you have more experience than anyone I could assign to this case. I hate to have to ask, but would you be willin’ to follow up on this yerself? I could even call Chief Bogo and see about gettin’ you officially seconded for as long as it takes, so you get paid and all...”

Nick mulled it over in his mind for a while. If he wasn’t in Bunnyburrow investigating Gideon’s disappearance, he’d just be at home for the next week moping around missing Judy anyway. Also, if Bogo got involved, he’d just as likely as not refuse the secondment for operational reasons. He could almost hear Bogo’s voice in his head saying, ‘Forget it, the burrows can solve their own problems, we need you here, and why should you get overtime to play detective on your days off?’ There was something nagging at the back of his mind, too, something that told him the story behind this was much deeper than he had yet realized, and if he didn’t see it through, it would haunt him.

“Let’s leave Bogo out of it for now,” Nick said, rising from his seat, “Since there’s no evidence to suggest any crime has been committed as of yet, we can consider me as just a guy trying to help locate a friend. If anything changes, I’ll call you and we can figure it out from there.”

Grounderson bolted from her seat, rounding the desk and clasping Nick’s paw in both of hers, wringing it enthusiastically. “Oh wow, that’s just super!” she said with a broad grin, “Yer a life saver, Corporal! If – uh, _when_ _–_ you find Gideon, I’ll write you a commendation and you can use it as part of your Sergeant’s application! Or even to apply for a detective’s position, maybe!”

“Thanks,” was Nick’s laconic reply. His manner was pensive, his mind whirling afresh with the strange facts of the case and all his possible avenues of investigation. “I’ll be in touch if I find anything,” he added, turning and departing with a wave over his shoulder.

His first stop was the street in front of Gideon’s bakery. He pulled the car up to a halt a the curb opposite the shop’s front door, stepping out into the gray, washed out morning light. The bakery was located on the main drag in the ‘downtown’ core of Bunnyburrow, a quaint, picturesque street lined with shops and old fashioned lamp posts. Nick cast a brief glance across at the front window of Gideon’s shop before turning his gaze to the storefronts that lined the opposite side of the street.

He shut the car door and stuffed his paws in his pockets, strolling slowly down the block, his eyes fixed on the underside of the eaves and above the doorways that ran along the sidewalk. If he could just find a security camera that had the proper field of view to include the front of Gideon’s shop, he’d have another piece of the puzzle. He reached the end of the block with no sign of a properly placed camera. Crossing over on the cross walk, he began strolling slowly down the other side, each step taking him closer to Gideon’s front door.

Two doors past Gideon’s, he found what he was looking for: a security camera, positioned so as to capture the entrance to a florist. It seemed the camera might possibly have caught a glimpse of whoever Gideon saw outside the window, as the mammal in question would have to have passed the florist after their encounter with Gideon. Nick paused a moment, looking up at the camera, before pushing open the door and heading inside.

The heady fragrance of hundreds of flowers hit him like a wave crashing against the shore, making his head spin; none of the scents were unpleasant, but to a canid with a powerful sense of smell, the cumulative effect was overwhelming. He steadied himself, shaking his head slightly before pressing onward. Toward the back of the shop stood a long counter with a glass cabinet front displaying various vases and baskets for flower arrangements. Behind the counter sat a black ewe who seemed to be in her late twenties, perhaps early thirties, with blue eyes and a soft pink nose. She seemed unusually tall for a ewe, appearing to be almost as tall as Nick. She wore a lavender and white sun dress with a short cropped sweater over her shoulders. She was leaning on the counter reading the morning paper, absently playing with the pendant of a necklace, rolling it between the fingers of her left hoof.

As Nick approached, she raised her eyes and fixed him with her azure gaze. A gentle smile crept over her muzzle and she nodded politely in greeting. “Morning!” she said in a quiet, even toned voice, “What can I do for you?”

“Hey there!” Nick said, steeling himself against the olfactory onslaught and flashing the most disarming smile he could manage, “I’m hoping you can do me a bit of a favour. My name’s Nick Wilde, and I’m a good friend of Gideon Gray – he owns the bakery two doors down from you.”

The ewe chuckled slightly, her smile broadening. “Oh, I know Gideon all right,” she said, offering her hoof in greeting, “Sharla Sheepton. Pleasure to meet you, Nick.”

“Likewise!” Nick said, shaking her hoof, “Gideon’s away at the moment, but I happened to be in town and he asked me to look into some problems he’s had with vandalism in front of the store. I noticed that you have a camera out front that probably caught it. I was hoping you’d be willing to help me out and let me have a look at the footage from yesterday, around noon?”

“He doesn’t have a camera that covers it, I guess?”

Nick shook his head.

“Well, anything to help Gideon out,” she said, rising from her seat, “I don’t know what I’d do without my morning scone and coffee...as a matter of fact I was pretty bummed out that he wasn’t open this morning.” She turned and motioned for him to follow her toward the back of the shop, through a door marked ‘Employees Only.’

“How long have you known Gideon?” Sharla asked as she led him through the work area toward an office near the back of the building, “You seem kinda familiar, but I’m sure you’re not from Bunnyburrow...”

“Oh, I’ve known Gideon a little over two years now,” Nick said, following her among stacked boxes, “I’m a police officer from Zootopia...you might possibly have seen me on the news a few times a couple of years ago.”

She stopped suddenly, snapping her fingers as she turned around. “Oh! _That’s_ where I know you from!” she said, staring at him with awe struck eyes, “You’re Judy’s partner, in the police department.” She seemed to hesitate, as if she was about to say more, but was unsure whether she should.

He noticed her gaze slip down his left arm, lingering on his paw and the gold ring encircling his middle finger, before darting back up to meet his gaze. A flush came over her cheeks and the membranes of her drop ears as her eyebrows slowly rose.

Nick knew that word of their marriage had gotten around at least in some circles in Bunnyburrow, mostly due to Judy’s proud parents’ genuine excitement, and he also knew that it had already raised more than a few eyebrows. He furrowed his brow slightly, instinctively tucking his paw into his pocket. He prepared himself to meet whatever nasty comment might be coming his way.

She chuckled nervously, clutching her pendant in her left hoof and waving the other in a gesture of embarrassment. “So the rumors were true…you and Judy... _wow!_ ” she said, looking mortified, “Gosh, I’m sorry, you must think I’m so rude...I don’t mean anything bad, it just tickles me to think of it, because of what happened with Gideon and all.”

Nick’s expression softened and he gave a gentle smile, “It’s okay, there’s probably no comment I haven’t heard about it already.”

She covered her muzzle with both hooves and took a deep breath, staring into his eyes as she steadied herself. At length she dropped her hooves, clasping them in front of her, revealing a faint smile. “Well, you probably know about how Gideon bullied her as a kid, left her with a nasty scratch on the face one time,” she said, her tone slightly lower than before, “It just strikes me as so funny that she ended up marrying a fox, and then here you are helping out Gideon. It’s...it’s kinda beautiful really. As much of a jerk as he was as a kid, Gideon turned out to be one of the kindest mammals I know.”

“That’s what I keep hearing,” Nick said.

Sharla gave a faint shake of her head, turning around and heading for the office again, “Sorry! Let’s get you that video footage you wanted.”

She led him to a small office in the back, not unlike the one in Gideon’s store, only far more pastel. It was decorated in various flower motifs of lavender, pink and yellow, with cutesy figurines of cartoon characters scattered around. Sharla sat down at a computer monitor and hit a key on the specialized keyboard, bringing up a display showing multiple camera views. She typed a few more bits of information and called up the preceding day’s footage from the front door on the top left window.

“What time did you say it was?” she asked, glancing back at him.

“Start at eleven fifteen,” he said.

A few more keystrokes fast forwarded the video. It was paused on a shot showing a figure approaching in the distance, though it was too far to make out the details.

“Okay, go,” Nick said, focusing intently on the dark blob of pixels that could be his mystery figure.

She played the video and the blob got closer and closer to the camera, resolving itself into the shape of an animal. Just after the point where the mammal passed in front of Gideon’s window, the front door of the bakery burst open and he emerged, causing the figure to turn around. They seemed to exchange some words, then the figure nodded and turned to resume its course along the sidewalk as Gideon vanished back through the door.

“There!” Nick said, pointing as the figure came close enough to be clearly seen, “Pause right there!”

As Nick had predicted, Sharla’s camera perfectly captured an image of the mammal in question as she passed under it. She was a middle aged wolverine dressed in a dark pants suit and carrying a handbag. She had a squat, somewhat broad shouldered, bear-like form with burnt ochre coloured fur over most of her head and neck, though the fur around eyes and muzzle was very dark, almost black. Small rounded ears poked out from the thick, luxuriant fur atop her head. Her face bore a somber, almost pained expression.

“Recognize her?” Nick asked, glancing at Sharla.

The ewe shook her head. “No, sorry,” she said, looking somewhat puzzled, “Could be a visitor, or maybe someone new who just moved to town?”

Nick quickly snapped a picture of the screen with his phone, slipping it back into his pocket.

Sharla snapped her fingers suddenly. “Oh!” she said, pointing at him, “Maybe ask Charlie Badgernathy! She knows everyone.”

Nick grinned, giving a gentle pat on her shoulder. “I was just thinking the same thing!” he said, turning to leave, “Do me a favour and don’t delete that footage!” He was already gone before she had a chance to respond.

Charlie Badgernathy was the aged, bombastic proprietor of Charlie’s Surf and Turf, a sixty something female badger widely known to have every tidbit of gossip in Bunnyburrow at her fingertips. Despite her boisterous, somewhat self important nature, she was nevertheless so jovial, good-natured and generally lacking in any sort of malicious intent that she managed to be very well liked. She could also be counted on, Nick had discovered, to be well informed of any new goings on in town.

“Nick Wilde!” she bellowed from her post behind the bar, catching sight of him the moment he entered, “How the hell are ya, you sexy beast?!” She wore a faded pair of blue jeans, a red plaid flannel shirt and a greasy apron over her front.

Nick flashed a wry smile, offering a wave before sidling up to the bar and plunking himself on one of the bar stools with an air of nonchalance. “Been all right,” he said, “Missed you here last night, Charlie – I was in late for dinner. How are you doing?”

“Wonderful, wonderful!” she said, drying her paws with a towel before tossing it aside, “And what about that sweetheart wife of yours? Either one of you is scarcely ever seen without the other!”

“Out of town for work, unfortunately,” Nick said, resting his forearms on the bar.

“Aha! So you got lonely and decided to come visit the in-laws,” Charlie said with a grin, “Adorable. You’re too precious for words, Nick my boy. _So!_ What’ll it be today?”

“I could use a coffee, to be honest,” Nick said, “The usual.” He was happy to avoid discussing the true reason for his visit and let Charlie make whatever assumptions she wanted.

“Coming right up!” Charlie said with a toothy grin. “ _LARRY!_ NICK’S HERE, GET HIM THE USUAL!” she bellowed into the kitchen.

“Any interesting new happenings in sleepy Bunnyburrow?” Nick asked, trying to seem casual. If his inquiries were too direct, Charlie would catch on and Gideon’s disappearance would be the talk of the town in no time – something he particularly wanted to avoid.

“Oh, not too much,” she replied, leaning on the counter with a burly forearm, “’Bout the most exciting thing to happen in the last while, aside from Carrot Days coming up, of course, is the new neighbors that moved into town.”

“Oh yeah?” Nick said in a mildly bored tone, perking a brow. He knew Charlie would be more eager to talk, trying to impress him, if he seemed disinterested.

“The interesting thing is,” Charlie said, leaning a little closer as if sharing some deep secret, “They’re actually _old neighbors_.”

Nick perked a brow at that. Charlie paused dramatically, fixing him with a wide eyed, overwrought stare as she took his coffee from the kitchen ledge and plunked it in front of him.

“They’re a couple of wolverines, the Quickhatches,” Charlie continued as Nick began sipping his coffee, “They lived here years ago, back when your lady was just a little kidlet.”

Nick’s ears perked at the mention of wolverines. Charlie’s tone was unusually low and dramatic, even for her, suggesting there was something much more significant to the story. Nick set his coffee down, still feigning a measure of disinterest, “Why’d they leave?”

“Most folk think it was because of their daughter, Sarah,” Charlie said, a somber look coming over her face. The transformation was unsettling; the badger’s normally jovial, plump faced expression suddenly became drawn and grave, the usual sparkle drained from her eyes. “She vanished, and no one ever found a trace of her,” she added, all levity utterly gone from her voice.

“Nobody had _any idea_ what happened to her?” Nick said, unable to hide his keen interest any longer, his ears swiveling to fix on the badger.

“Oh, they had an idea all right,” Charlie continued, “They caught a real sicko, a goat serial killer who was wanted for killing a bunch of kids in Zootopia, hiding out just outside of town. They questioned him, but he wouldn’t talk and there was no evidence to pin it on him. I’m sure the bastard did her in, though.”

“Do you remember his name?” Nick said, taking another long sip of coffee but not taking his eyes off Charlie.

“Hmmm, let me see...” Charlie said, stroking the side of her muzzle with her index finger and staring at the bar for a moment, “Baxter was it? Baxter…Gruffley! Pretty sure it was Baxter Gruffley. Real piece of work he was, too.”

“Interesting...” Nick said, tapping his index finger on the bar a few times, “I wonder what made them decide to come back here...”

Charlie shrugged, crossing her thick arms across her chest. “Who knows?” she said with a faint sigh, “They took a house near the edge of town, where the farms begin. You drive right past it on your way back to Stu’s place. It’s a big old white house, built in the fifties I think.”

“The one at the corner where Main Street joins Prairie road?”

“Yeah, that’s the one, blue trim.”

A faint grin spread across Nick’s muzzle as he polished off the last of his coffee, setting it down and fishing out a few bills from his wallet, which he placed beside the empty mug. “I’ve got one last question for you, Charlie,” Nick said, pulling out his phone and opening the picture he captured from the security monitor at the florist, “Is this Mrs. Quickhatch?”

The expression of shock on her face confirmed the answer even before she spoke. “Yeah! That’s her, Ethel Quickhatch!” Charlie said with a nod, “How did you—?”

“Later, Charlie!” Nick said, casting a wave back over his shoulder as he slipped out the door.

~<{0}>~

Nick drew a deep breath as he stepped onto the porch of the Quickhatch house. He had sat in his car at the curb for at least fifteen minutes trying to come up with some kind of approach or angle that would somehow take the edge off the conversation he was about to have, but in the end he was left with the direct approach. Reaching out, he rapped sharply on the door three times.

A few moments passed before he heard steps approaching. “Who is it?” came a feminine, but age roughened voice from within.

Nick flipped open his wallet and held up his badge to the peep hole. “Corporal Nick Wilde, ZPD,” he said, “I’d just like to ask you a few questions, if you wouldn’t mind.”

There was a clattering behind the door as several bolts and security locks were unlatched, then a brief pause before the door opened to reveal the same wolverine Nick had seen in the security footage at Sharla’s.

She was nearly as tall as Nick, with a few gray strands of fur beginning to show around her black muzzle. She regarded him with a solemn, mildly quizzical expression. “That’s peculiar,” she said, “You’re the second fox to visit me in two days.”

A startled look came over his face; he was certainly on the right track. “Would that other fox happen to be named Gideon Gray?” he asked, clasping his paws in front of him.

Now it was Ethel’s turn to be startled, “It was indeed!”

“Outstanding,” Nick said, “Ma’am, if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk with you about your visit with Gideon. It’s very important.”

“Of course,” she said with a nod, "But if you're from Zootopia Police, why are you way out here?"

"Helping out the Sheriffs with something," he said, "My wife is from here, so they know me pretty well. They're pretty strapped for staff with Carrot Days coming up and all."

“Hmm," she said with a faint shrug, "Well, come right in.”

She led him into a small sitting room at the front of the house. A Fire was already burning in the fireplace in hopes of warding off the chill of the foul weather outside. Ethel took a quick look into the hallway before sliding a frosted glass paneled pocket door closed behind them. Curiously, she also pushed play on a stereo system set on a small table by the door, filling the room with classical music before she sat down in an armchair by the fireplace, motioning to another chair opposite.

Nick took his seat and pulled out his pen and notebook, leaning forward to be sure he was heard over the music. “Thank you for taking the time to talk to me, Mrs. Quickhatch,” he began, “I understand you saw Gideon outside his shop yesterday morning?”

She looked startled again, hesitating a moment, no doubt wondering how he knew. “Yes,” she said, “He came out to me as I passed. He recognized me, I suppose, from a long time ago, when we used to live in Bunnyburrow.”

“Do you recall about what time Gideon arrived at your door yesterday?”

“Oh, I’d say around half past twelve,” she said, “Came to the door with an apple pie, as a housewarming gift.”

“What made him want to do that? Do you know?”

“Well,” Ethel said, averting her gaze to the fire dancing in the hearth, “He knew our Sarah...I...I think they were close friends.”

“You...aren’t sure?” Nick asked with a quizzical expression.

“She only brought him over one time,” Ethel said, continuing to watch the writhing flames, “I never saw hide or hair of the boy other than that one afternoon, but Sarah was always out running around exploring, pursuing childish adventures...we...we thought at the time it was best...to let her have her freedom, but...”

She began to falter, tears rising in her eyes, her words strangled by sobs she fought to repress. She raised a paw to cover her mouth, shutting her eyes and breathing deeply to steady herself.

“What happened yesterday, when he came over?” Nick said, trying to steer the conversation away from the obviously raw subject of Sarah.

“When I met him outside the shop, he seemed quite shocked to see me. We talked briefly, and he asked if it would be all right if he brought us a housewarming gift. I gave him the address,” she said, blinking several times and quickly wiping the corners of her eyes with the back of her paw, “When he arrived, he seemed almost apologetic, saying it was so little, but really it was such a thoughtful and kind gift...”

“How was he?” Nick said, “Was there anything about his behavior that stood out to you?”

She paused for several seconds, her gaze averted as she seemed to be mentally rehearsing what had happened. “He seemed very...uneasy,” she said slowly, turning her eyes back to Nick, “I don’t think he stopped wringing his paws the whole time he sat in this room. He spoke in ever so gentle a voice...he seemed so concerned for me and Arthur – that’s my husband.”

“What else do you remember?”

“Well, there was something,” she said, “Arthur must have overheard Mr. Gray asking me why we decided to move back here, because he burst in the room very angry, telling Mr. Gray it was because he wanted answers about Sarah. They exchanged a few heated words...”

She hesitated a moment, lowering her voice and leaning a bit closer, “You see...my husband...he was never the same after Sarah disappeared. He was a Colonel in the air force, but since he retired he’s started drinking...he’s become very bitter and angry, and he’s obsessed with finding her. I didn’t want poor Mr. Gray to have to deal with all that, so I excused myself and left briefly to talk Arthur down. When I returned, he was gone, and the pie was sitting on the coffee table.”

Nick jotted several notes down in his book, his brow furrowed in concentration. Suddenly, a loud yell interjected itself into the silence between them.

“ _ETHEL!_ ” the voice thundered through the house, “Where the devil are y—”

The pocket door suddenly slammed open so hard it seemed the inset glass would shatter, revealing a ruddy faced wolverine in late middle age, with broad, squared shoulders, a thickly muscled torso, powerful arms and huge paws. His face bore a fierce look, his lip curled in a snarl, and his glazed eyes and the reek of rum revealed that he more than a little way into the bottle.

“Who the hell are you!?” he demanded, a growl interlacing his voice.

Nick instantly rose from his seat, his gaze sharply focused on the newcomer he assumed must be Arthur Quickhatch; an angry wolverine was not a potential threat to take lightly. “Corporal Nicholas Wilde, ZPD,” Nick said, his voice measured but resolute. At times, the mention of the badge could change a would-be attacker’s tune very quickly.

Unfortunately, it seemed to have the opposite effect on Arthur. He puffed out his chest, the snarl curling his muzzle deepening. “A cop this time, is it!?” he snorted, “Fat lot of good you doughnut munchers did back then!”

Ethel leapt from her seat, placing one paw over Arthur’s shoulder and blocking any further advance with the other. “Arthur, _stop it!_ ” she said, “The young Corporal here had nothing to do with that! He just came to ask me some questions about our visitor yesterday, _who you frightened away!_ ”

“I don’t need any of you do-gooders coming around here!” he growled low in his throat, both paws tightly clenched into thick fists, though he didn’t step any closer, “Everyone in this damn town can just stay the hell away from us, unless they’re going to help find her!”

“ _Arthur Quickhatch!_ ” Ethel said, her face becoming nearly as fierce as her husband’s, “Nicholas is a guest in our home, and he does not deserve to be treated so shamefully by you!”

“It’s all right, ma’am,” Nick said, slipping his notebook back into his pocket, “I’ll be on my way. I’m sorry to have troubled you.” He began to walk toward the door, never taking his eyes off of Arthur for a moment; he was ready to react with extreme force if it became necessary. Arthur let him pass, his eyes cast to the floor.

“Corporal,” Arthur said as Nick was about to walk out of the room. His voice was low and faltering.

They turned toward each other at the same moment, and Nick saw a totally different mammal than the one he had seen moments before. Arthur’s whole form looked broken and sagging under the weight of his grief. Without the mask of rage to hide it, his eyes bore a haunted, agonized look of despair, his brow knitted, his jaw clenched and lips drawn taut.

“Do you...have any children, Corporal Wilde?” Arthur said, his voice a dry, ragged husk of the thunderous bass tones he had used before, “Do you have any idea... _can you even imagine_ what it’s like...to lose your baby? Your sweet little girl?”

Nick stared silently for several moments; his thoughts instantly turned to Ashley, to her innocent smile, to the hope that always glowed in her azure eyes. “No,” he said, his voice hushed, though his words bore a hint of an edge, “But Gideon does...he has a daughter named Ashley.”

He turned to leave, but he stopped after one step, his form still framed in the doorway as the Quickhatches stared at him. “I’m...truly sorry for your loss,” he said, only half turning his head. The edge had drained from his words, replaced with pained sincerity. With that, he was gone.


	3. Shards in the Darkness

Nick sighed sharply as he drove away from the Quickhatch house, trying to shake the image of Ashley that haunted his mind’s eye. Gradually, the sweet little kit had managed to find her way into a place in his heart, such that ‘Uncle Nick’ felt more than a little fatherly protectiveness toward her. The Colonel’s agonized question had struck him hard; the thought of anything happening to her was so horrible and disturbing that he preferred not to even contemplate it, and yet that living nightmare had been the Quickhatches’ reality for the last seventeen years or so.

The more he tried to shed light on the circumstances of Gideon’s disappearance, the murkier and stranger the case became. Clearly, the appearance of Mrs. Quickhatch outside his shop had rattled Gideon severely, his visit to their home even more, so it seemed, perhaps causing him to flee the house. Then again, was it possible that they knew more than they were telling? Colonel Quickhatch had seemed very bitter toward the Sheriffs for failing to find his daughter so many years ago. Was it possible he had a twisted vendetta against the whole town, of which Gideon was the first victim?

Nick growled quietly in frustration; he kept digging up far more questions than answers in the course of his investigation. It seemed likely at this point that Gideon’s disappearance was at least in some way related to the return of the Quickhatches and the disappearance of their daughter so many years ago. He decided he had to have a look at the police file if he was going to get anywhere. At any rate, it was as good a next step as any, given that the trail had gone cold again.

He pulled up to the curb in front of the Sheriff’s department for the second time that day, locking up his car and dashing inside under the brooding gray sky. A young, well groomed timber wolf with icy blue eyes had replaced Buckerton at the front desk. The Sergeant could be seen just beyond in the office, sitting at one of the desks and talking on the phone, looking uncharacteristically perturbed at what he was hearing.

Nick approached the desk and flashed his badge, “Hey there! Corporal Wilde, ZPD; I need to get a quick look at an old case file, hoping you can help me out.”

The deputy looked at Nick with a perked brow, hesitating for a moment. “Uhhh...” he said, turning to Buckerton with a quizzical look.

“He’s helpin’ the Chief with somethin’, Packerd!” he snapped, looking very irritable, “He can go where he wants and see what he wants! Show him the file room!” After shifting briefly back to his typical relaxed smile and giving Nick a wave, he turned his attention back to the phone call.

The wolf turned back to Nick with a sheepish grin, rising from his chair. “Sorry about that, Corporal,” he said, waving his paw for Nick to follow him, “Right his way, I’ll show you to the file room.”

Nick followed him through the office to a nondescript door at the very back of the station. A small red and white sign was affixed in the center that read ‘Authorized Personnel Only.’ Packerd opened the door and stepped through, holding it for Nick. It opened into a steel staircase that descended into the dimly lit basement of the station.

“So, whatcha lookin’ for, Corporal?” Packerd asked as they descended the stairs.

“Nick is fine,” he said with a slight smile, “And I’m looking for the case file on Sarah Quickhatch...she disappeared around fifteen or sixteen years ago.”

“Okay, I’m sure we can find that for ya.”

Nick followed Packerd through row upon row of steel shelving units lined with bankers boxes, labeled and organized alphabetically, until they came to the sparsely populated ‘Q’ section. It took only moments for the wolf to find the correct box and pull it from the shelf. It was caked in a thick layer of gray dust, looking as if it hadn’t been touched since the day it was set there. He carried it further down the stacks to an open area near the center of the basement that had a table with a few stationery supplies and a magnifying lamp on a swivel arm and an uncomfortable looking metal chair. He plunked the box in the center of the table.

“Welp, if you need anything, just holler,” he said, flashing a toothy grin. He turned to leave, but stopped, hesitating a moment before adding, “If you don’t mind me askin’, why the interest in such an old case?”

“I’m not sure yet...” Nick said, staring hard at the nondescript box sitting on the table in front of him. “Maybe it’s nothing...” he said, more to himself than to Packerd.

The wolf looked puzzled, but merely shrugged and headed back toward the stairs. “Nice meetin’ ya, Nick!” he said, casting a wave over his shoulder.

Silence descended as Nick continued to stare at the box for several moments. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was inside; something in the back of his mind told him he didn’t want to turn over this stone, to start digging up these old bones. He reached out and grasped the lid anyway, turning it over and setting it aside. The dusty, stale scent of old paper wafted to his nostrils.

Inside was a yellowed, coffee stained file jacket containing several pages of reports and notes, a pawful of photographs, and, most unsettling of the lot, a red grosgrain ribbon of the sort young females would tie into their headfur. It was used, no doubt, as a scent sample for the canine officers to follow. He began with the file itself, opening the jacket and directing the light of the lamp onto it as he settled into the chair. He flipped to the incident report of Sarah’s disappearance and began reading.

The emergency call was placed early in the morning, at 0730; Arthur Quickhatch reported his daughter missing. The preliminary investigation showed no sign of forced entry, but Sarah’s second storey window was found open despite the driving rain and wind that night, and a ladder ordinarily laid along the side of the house was propped up against the eave under the window. A coat was also missing from her room. The inclement weather made tracking virtually impossible, and a canvass of the surrounding area turned up nothing.

The deputies, as a matter of course, questioned everyone who knew the family. Gideon’s name had come up later on, as the Quickhatches desperately tried to remember everyone Sarah knew. There was an entry about a deputy questioning a Gabriel Gray—Gideon’s father? At his home. The report listed the address, a large rural property outside the boundaries of the town. Gabriel had said Gideon didn’t know anything about it, and rather abruptly shut the door. Apparently his manner was less than friendly, but given that foxes usually tended to be assumed guilty until proven innocent, it was understandable.

A more extensive search turned up nothing, but interestingly, a routine traffic stop for a broken tail light a few days later in the next county resulted in the arrest of Baxter Gruffley on an outstanding warrant for murder. Gruffley was a notorious serial killer whose particular victims of choice happened to be children. Of course, a gun fight and a wounded deputy resulted before he was captured. He was interrogated at length about Sarah’s disappearance.

Nick read over the transcript of the interrogation. Gruffley seemed to be toying with them in his answers, implying he knew something, but offering nothing solid to go on. In the end, the trail went cold and Gruffley never admitted to any involvement in Sarah’s disappearance. The notes on the file seemed to indicate that the consensus among the Sheriff’s department at the time was that Gruffley murdered her and disposed of her body.

Nick sat back in his chair, stroking his chin pensively and staring at the file spread out on the table in front of him. There wasn’t much to go on just in the reports. He flipped the pages aside and began rummaging through the pile of photographs underneath.

The first several photos were of the Quickhatch house the morning of the disappearance. He poured over them intensely, searching every minute detail of each picture. There was the old wooden ladder propped up against the eaves under Sarah’s window, the spot on several flagstones beside the house where it was normally laid down against the wall, the flat, rain slicked panels of tin roofing under the window, the wet window sill with its soggy, wind blown curtains. There were no tracks to be seen in the sopping grass around the house, no hoof or paw prints anywhere, perhaps obliterated by the weather.

Nothing was broken; no sign the window was forced in any way, nothing to indicate that Sarah was forced out of her room or that there was any violence involved at all. Also, the Quickhatches hadn’t heard a thing, not a sound. The weather might have partially accounted for that, but if Sarah was violently kidnapped, they ought to have heard _something_. It didn’t add up; something wasn’t right. The longer he looked at it, the stronger the feeling became.

He looked closer at the picture of the front of the house with the ladder propped beneath the window. He stared for several long moments, focusing every shred of his attention on it. Something was wrong...there was something they missed...something that didn’t fit.

Suddenly, it clicked in his mind and he shuffled rapidly through the pictures until he found one he knew would be there; Gruffley’s mugshot, taken following his roadside arrest. A grizzled, grim jawed goat with long, curling horns and drooped ears stared back mutely from the yellowed photograph. His lip was set in a faint sneer, his eyes cold and hard. He had a heavy, powerful build, and the measuring tape on the wall behind him indicated his height was only a few inches shy of six feet.

Nick sat back, staring at the photos for several seconds. He suddenly whipped out his notebook and jotted down several notes in rapid succession. Then he collected and pocketed the crime scene shots, hastily piling the rest of the file back into the box. He turned and dashed for the stairs, climbing out of the darkness of the cellar into the warm light of the main office.

Buckerton was sitting at one of the desks typing on the computer, writing some sort of incident report. He swiveled his chair around as Nick approached, leaning back and chewing his toothpick. “Find what you needed?” he asked, his habitual placid, half-lidded expression having returned.

“Sort of...I actually need to ask a favour,” Nick said, “I assume you guys have NCID access?”

Buckerton nodded, “Of course.”

“Mind if I use one of your workstations? I need to run a name and DOB…I need to check a hunch.”

Buckerton pursed his lips for a moment, looking pensive. “Seems to me that you might raise a few questions at the ZBI if your user ID was seen accessing the NCID from here...” he said at length before adding, “Lucky for you I just happen to need to look up that same info you’re looking for. What’s the name?”

“Gruffley, Baxter; DOB 07, 10, 1978,” Nick said with a wry grin, pulling up a chair from a nearby desk and sitting down beside Buckerton.

Buckerton spun around and began typing rapidly, bringing up the ZBI’s criminal information database, an expansive system with criminal record information from across the country, as well as some international files put out by Interpol. Within moments, a hit came back on Gruffley. Buckerton sat back, letting Nick lean in to read the long rap sheet himself.

It was a nasty chronicle of a twisted degenerate. Like many career criminals and sickos, it began with lesser crimes like vandalism, theft, assault and battery, and worked up to aggravated assault, attempted murder and murder. At some point in his sordid career, he seemed to have gone completely beyond the pale and developed into a child serial killer. Nick leaned forward and took the mouse in his paw, scrolling back to the top where the bio data was. He studied it for a moment, the look of concern and unease on his face deepening.

“Pretty sick customer, huh, Nick?” Buckerton said, glancing over and noticing the look on the fox’s face, “I seem to recall that he was involved in some kind of child kidnapping that happened in Bunnyburrow a lotta years ago. Some wolverine girl? Was that the file you were looking up downstairs?”

“Yeah...” Nick said, drawing out the word as he focused intensely, his mind churning with the facts of the case. The more he thought about it, the more he played the scene in his mind, the more that one detail stuck out – the more wrong and out of place it was. With each passing moment, each time he visualized it, the incongruity became more glaring; there was mud on the rails of the ladder.

“Thanks, Sergeant! I gotta run,” Nick said, patting the buck’s shoulder as he rose from his seat.

Buckerton seemed about to say something, but Nick was already out of the office and into the foyer, having hopped the counter. The buck merely perked a brow and chewed his toothpick thoughtfully.

~<{0}>~

The darkening sky and whistling wind added to the sense of foreboding brought on by the sinister theories spinning in Nick’s mind as he drove to the old Quickhatch house. He had to stand in front of the place, to put himself in the moment of that terrible night so long ago. He had to stare at the place as he thought through the awful theory that was forming in his mind. Within fifteen minutes, he pulled up to the curb and turned off the engine.

The old house still looked much the same as it did in the snapshots from the case file. It had been given a new coat of paint, changing the colour of the weathered siding from brown to a brighter shade of green, but the basic appearance was unchanged. There was still a well manicured lawn stretching from the white picket fence at the sidewalk to the covered porch whose eaves ran under the second storey windows. The metal clad roof, though it too had been painted, still looked very much the same as it did in the photos.

Nick stepped out and approached the front gate, standing with his paws thrust in his pockets and his collar turned up against the biting wind. He could just make out the concrete pad at the side of the house where the old wooden ladder once stood. The ladder that was just tall enough to reach the tin roof under Sarah’s window. The ladder that a six foot tall, hundred and eighty pound goat should have been able to heft into place with ease. The ladder whose rails were muddy...muddy from being dragged and laid down in the sopping grass of the lawn.

As he stood staring at the darkened edifice of that house, the discrepancies that had eluded the investigators over a decade ago screamed in his mind. A full grown goat with Baxter Gruffley’s build should have been able to easily lift that ladder and place it against the house. It should have been spotless save perhaps for the feet that rested in the dirt in front of the porch. A big goat like Gruffley would have left sharp impressions in the grass and dirt from his hard-edged, cloven hooves – hooves that would have made it treacherous, if not impossible for him to navigate the rain slicked metal panels of the eave roof under the window.

Nothing about Sarah Quickhatch’s disappearance fit with Gruffley’s MO, either. Every murder charge on his record included a child luring charge to match. His style was to draw them in, to lure them into his trap, not to violently snatch them from their beds in the middle of the night. He didn’t have even one burglary charge on his record.

Everything about the scene described and photographed in the case file was inconsistent with Baxter Gruffley being the perpetrator, yet his appearance near the scene at the time made him too perfect a suspect for the Sheriffs to pass up, and they got tunnel visioned on him. What was the alternative? Nick didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to believe it could be possible, but the more he tried to deny it, the more plausible the scenario became in his mind.

The ladder was muddy because it was dragged into place and laid down on the grass, then tilted into place rung by rung by a mammal too small to lift it all at once. The metal roof, too slick to be negotiated by the hooves of an adult goat, were easily traversed by the soft footpaws of two young mammals. The sodden earth beneath the lawn, which would have been so deeply marked by the sharp, hard hooves of a strongly muscled goat, was unmarred by the soft, broad pads of a young wolverine and the fox who paid her a late night visit. There was no sign or sound of struggle because Sarah went willingly, because she knew the young fox who came calling that night. The implications of the theory kept linking themselves one to another in his mind, forming a chain that became more appalling the longer it got.

A chill ran down Nick’s spine, and it wasn’t merely born of the cold wind rushing through his fur. There was no definitive proof, but he had a visceral feeling, a sense deep within himself, that he was on the right track. They might not be admissible in court, but he had long since learned to trust his gut reactions.

Casting one last glance at the quiet, darkened edifice of the house, Nick strode back to the Manta and jumped into the driver’s seat, firing up the engine. He pulled away and drove rapidly down the road, headed for the next address scribbled into his notepad: the old Gray homestead.

It was close...maybe too close for comfort. Only a mile or so down the road, it looked like a pair of mischievous young kids could have easily crossed fields and fences to get there, even on a dreary, rain soaked night. He expected to find it occupied, its paint refurbished, maybe even the house torn down and replaced with something more modern. What he saw when he pulled up to the rusty, padlocked gate at the end of the crumbling asphalt drive nearly took his breath away. He killed the engine and got out, standing in the door of the Manta and staring in surprise and confusion.

Abandoned and weather beaten, the same house that Nick recognized from the police file loomed at the end of the drive. Like a derelict hulk run aground amid the shallows of a windswept, green-gold sea of wild grasses, it lay silent and lifeless. Devoid of glass, its windows were gaping black voids in its ashen gray siding. Traces of soot at the tops of the empty frames, streaked along the siding boards, and spread across the underside of the drooping eaves suggested a fire had at one point added its black strokes to the portrait of decay. At one spot near the peak of the roof, the shingles drooped into a hole where the rafters had partially collapsed. The front porch was warped with age and neglect, leaning at odd angles with boards jutting up awkwardly at intervals.

Just beyond the house stood a tumbledown garage with large, crooked, double doors. Its siding was a similar lifeless gray to the house, but it was untouched by any trace of soot. Nick could see no windows save for a small round one centered above the doors, presumably meant only to let in some natural light. With its swaybacked roof and slightly off-kilter walls, it looked like it wouldn’t take much to reduce it to a heap of rotten timber.

Beyond the house and garage, the gently rolling sea of grasses rose up gradually to meet the edge of a dim, thickly overgrown wood. It was difficult to be sure amid the billowing and swaying of the grass and undergrowth in the cold September wind, but Nick thought he could perhaps make out a gap in the brush where a path might penetrate into the gloom of the woodland beyond.

He closed the car door and strode to the heavy steel gate that barred his path. The gate itself was in a similar state of disrepair to the rest of the property, the flaky remnants of what was once a coat of white paint barely clinging to its rusty bars. Strangely, the chain and padlock that held the gate shut were obviously much newer and in better shape. Affixed beside the lock was a large metal sign that read ‘NO TRESPASSING’ in bold white letters on a red field.

Nick clasped the padlock in his paw and stared at it for a moment. Everything about this was wrong; in Bunnyburrow, land was limited and of fairly high value, meaning that nothing remained vacant for long. For someone to own this property and leave it an unoccupied ruin for what was obviously a long time was strange to say the least. Also, despite it being utterly bereft and abandoned, someone had taken care to maintain the lock and the sign that kept trespassers out. He let the lock drop and clang against the gate, taking one last, lingering look at the empty house in the windblown grass.

As he fired up the engine, he realized there was one place that might shed some light on the mystery behind the abandoned house. The Land Title Office in town would have a record of who held the deed to the property. He just had to think of a suitable excuse that would convince them to let him know who owned it. He figured he could put on a convincing enough show to get what he wanted.

~<{0}>~

Nick paused on the sidewalk outside the land title office – a stately, venerable brick and stone building in the heart of downtown, with tall latticed windows and flanking brickwork columns rising to a gray marble pediment that ran the width of the roof.

He snugged up his jacket, smoothing out the wrinkles, and ran his paw between his ears, quickly making himself as presentable as he could. He had it all planned out; he would go in posing as a land developer and ask about the vacant property, saying he just wanted to know who the owner was so he could inquire about buying it. If he played it cool, it should be no problem – it was a reasonable enough request after all. He took a deep breath and put on his most disarming smile before pushing open the door and heading inside.

A pretty, well dressed twenty-something rabbit with reddish brown fur and a patch of white over her muzzle sat behind the front counter. She was typing rapidly on her keyboard and heavily absorbed in whatever was on her screen. Seeing her reminded him of Judy, and a faint pang of longing shot through him before he forced it down and approached.

“Good afternoon,” Nick began, flashing his most suave smile, “I’m—”

The bunny had looked up the moment he began to speak, surprise and recognition coming over her features. “Well I’ll be darned!” she exclaimed, cutting him off, “If it ain’t city slicker Nick Wilde! Been a long while since I’ve seen you! You’re lookin’ mighty fine, if I may be so bold, sir.”

“Ahhh...oh, y...yeah! That’s...that’s me!” Nick stammered, his plan shattered by the clerk’s instant recognition of him. He struggled to remember where he’d met her before.

“You may not remember me—I know the Hopps clan is a big one—I’m Jackie, Judy’s sister,” she continued, flashing a broad grin that was reminiscent of Judy’s, “We met briefly before you were married, the first time you came to visit. What brings you down to the Land Title office today?”

“Ah..well...you see, I ah...there’s this property...” Nick said hesitantly, his mind racing as he tried to think of what to say without revealing too much of his real reason for the inquiry.

Jackie let out a long gasp, covering her muzzle with her paws, “You’re thinking of moving back to Bunnyburrow with Jude?! Oh, Nick, that would be so wonderful!”

“Well, um..not...not exactly, you know, but I thought...it might be nice to have a... _vacation property!”_ he said, recovering his bearing, “You know, a cabin where we can go on holidays and have our own place but still be close to the family, that sort of thing. I spotted this vacant property with an abandoned house outside of town and I thought it’d be perfect. I was hoping you might be able to help me find out who owns it, so I can inquire about maybe buying it.”

“Well that sounds wonderful!” he said, flashing a conspiratorial grin before adding, “You plan to surprise Jude, don’tcha?”

“You got me!” Nick said with a faint chuckle, “I love to surprise her.”

“Got an address? I’ll have to go digging through the records, so it might take a little bit, but I ought to be able to get that for you pretty quick.”

“Sure,” he said, flashing a smile. He took a scrap piece of paper from a stack left on the counter for clients to use and quickly scratched out the address of the derelict property, handing it over to Jackie.

Jackie’s nose twitched pensively a couple of times as she looked over the address. Finally she gave a decisive nod, turning to her screen and rapidly typing it into the database. After a few moments, she jotted something on the slip Nick had handed her and jumped up from her chair. “I’ll have to go dig this out of the archive,” she said, an apologetic smile crossing her muzzle, “We’re only partially computerized here...Bunnyburrow, right?”

Nick slipped his paws into his pockets, giving a nod and a smile, “I’ll be here.”

Some twenty minutes later, she emerged from the back of the office with the same scrap of paper in her paw. She bounded up into her chair and flashed a triumphant grin at Nick. “Got good news for you, Nick!” she said.

“Oh?” he asked, a jolt rippling through his form as she startled him from his thoughts about the case, “What is it?”

“I found out who owns the property, and you’re not gonna believe this, but you already know him! I bet he’d be happy to sell it to you...maybe even give you a great price! The name on the title is...Gideon Gray!”

Nick started from his seat, a look of bewilderment on his face. His jaw hung open for a moment as his mind raced with the implications of the discovery. Finally he blinked and shook his head, moving toward the door. “Thanks, Jackie! I owe you one,” he said, waving before he pushed his way out the door.

He jumped into the car and fired it up, pulling away from the curb and driving rapidly toward Gideon’s house. He pulled out his phone and hit Jenny’s number. She picked up on the first ring.

“Hello?”

“Jenny, it’s Nick...”

“Oh, thank goodness! Did you find Gideon?” she asked, the tremble of fear evident in her voice.

“No, not yet, I’m sorry...Jenny, listen, did Gideon ever talk to you about what happened to his old home? From when he was a kid?” Nick asked, keeping his tone subdued, although his thoughts were quickly turning to dark places.

“No...I don’t think so...oh, wait! When we were first dating, I remember asking him about his parents…sadly they both died in a fire at his old house,” she said, “His dad fell asleep with a lit cigarette I think...He didn’t want to talk about it much, obviously...I guess it burned to the ground?”

 _Evidently not_ , Nick thought, _So why on earth would Gideon inherit the property after his parents’ deaths, and then bar it shut and leave it to rot for over a decade_ _without ever mentioning it to his wife_ _?_

“Jenny, I need to search your house...is that okay?” he said at length.

“Nick...what’s going on?” she asked. The fear in her voice was deepening.

“I...I don’t know yet, but it’s not good,” he said with a sigh, “I need to find him fast.”

“Whatever it takes, Nick...please bring him back to us!”

“See you soon,” he said, and hung up, pressing the accelerator further toward the floor.

When he arrived at the house, he pushed open the door without knocking, giving little more than a quick nod to Jenny as she rose from her chair in the living room. Nick took a glance out the back door, noticing Ashley swaying back and forth on the swing hanging from the oak tree. He was glad she seemed mostly oblivious to the whole business, other than the basic understanding that her daddy wasn’t home yet. Seeing her only added to the already intense feeling of urgency in Nick’s mind.

He dashed up the stairs, heading for Gideon and Jenny’s bedroom. He stood in the doorway, surveying the room for a moment before he entered. They had a queen sized bed set against the far wall, tucked into one of the gables, the drapes gathered on either side of the headboard. To the right of the bed stood a tall, heavy antique dresser of cherry oak. On the opposite side of the room was a small vanity with a tall mirror, all wrought in the same wood as the dresser. A large bookcase took up most of the wall to the right of the door. Nick stepped inside and slowly surveyed the room.

He glanced over the vanity and the bed, then turned his attention to the dresser. He moved to it and carefully picked through each drawer in turn. The top three drawers were Jenny’s, so he quickly passed through those, finding the bottom three were Gideon’s. There was nothing amiss in any of them. With a sigh, he stood up, carefully inspecting the top – there were a couple of photos and a few knickknacks, but nothing seemed to be disturbed. He looked closer, however, and noticed something he’d missed at first glance. There was a small circle at the back right corner of the dresser top where the thin layer of dust was absent, as if something round had been standing there and was recently removed. He looked very closely at it – the circle was about two inches in diameter, and had a sharply defined edge all the way around. Whatever had stood there had a regular edge that firmly contacted the surface, preventing any dust from slipping under it. He made a mental note of it and turned his attention to the bookcase.

He cast his eyes over it from top to bottom, looking for anything that stood out or looked disturbed. He had looked over the whole thing twice before he suddenly realized with a start that something was awry. One of the books on the top shelf wasn’t a book at all – upon closer inspection, he realized it was an old cigar box. Gideon had never smoked, from what Nick knew, and the box appeared very old fashioned, the covering somewhat worn at the edges. It was slipped into the top shelf as if it was a book, and it blended in fairly well with the venerable looking volumes that surrounded it. He reached up to pick it down from the shelf, finding to his surprise that it was very light – obviously empty.

He looked the box over in his paws for a few moments before opening the lid. There was nothing inside save a few yellowish stains discolouring the bottom. He was about to close it and put it back when a familiar scent tickled his nose. He buried his nosepad into the box and took a deep huff of the faint, lingering scent, his eyes widening in alarm. It was a scent he had come to know all too well since his first days at the academy; it was the distinct aroma of steel and gun oil. Immediately, his mind flashed back to the missing axe from the first evening he came to see Jenny, and his heart sank with horror.

With the box clutched in his paws, he scrambled down the stairs to the living room where Jenny was sitting in a chair by the front window, a book laid across her lap, her chin resting on her paw and her gaze turned to the dim, gray, restless day outside.

She turned her head sharply to him as he entered, immediately seeing the tension that ran through his every sinew. “Nick...what is it?” she asked, furrowing her brow at him.

“What does Gideon keep on the back right of the dresser?” he said.

“A flashlight...” she began, looking more puzzled by the moment.

“And what was in this box?” he continued, holding out the cigar box; he feared he already knew the answer.

Her eyes widened and she dropped her book on the floor. Even before she spoke, the horror on her face made the answer as plain as day. “His...his father’s revolver...” she breathed, her voice a stricken whisper. So Gideon had been back to his house on the day he vanished, and all he had taken with him was an axe, a flashlight and a gun.

Nick dropped the box and ran out the front door without another word.


	4. The Valley of the Shadow

The engine screamed as Nick downshifted and tore past a lumbering farm wagon laden with crates of apples. He gripped the wheel tightly in his paws, his teeth clenched and his mind racing as quickly as the motor. With each passing moment, he became more convinced that Gideon knew exactly what happened to Sarah Quickhatch, that his disappearance had everything to do with hers, and that the answers to it all lay somewhere on the forsaken homestead that was Gideon’s childhood home.

The sky was quickly darkening into a brooding black mass of clouds as another impending storm gathered strength. A downpour certainly wouldn’t make searching for evidence any easier, but it couldn’t be helped. Nick drifted around a bend in the road, the tires screeching on pavement still wet from the last rainfall. Ahead, the ghostly edifice of the Gray homestead loomed from behind a rise in a neighboring field.

Within a few minutes, the car skidded to a halt just outside the rusty gates Nick had visited earlier. He jumped out and slammed the car door, taking a brief look at the ever darkening sky, his lip curling in a sneer. Turning back to the derelict house awash in windswept grass, he made a short sprint before vaulting over the gate and onto the decaying concrete driveway beyond.

Only a few dozen steps up the drive, he stopped and dropped to his knees, carefully examining the broken edge where the concrete had given way to scattered fragments, dirt, and weeds as the old surface disintegrated over time. He could just make out the faint imprint of a tire tread, and he could see the disturbed bits of concrete that were torn asunder as the tires spun. Someone had driven up this driveway not long before, but the traces that were clear up close were invisible from outside the gate. Nick cast his gaze up to the weathered doors of the garage.

He strode up the drive at a quicker pace, noticing several spots where he could only just make out the impression of tire treads; they led directly to the grayed, slightly parted doors of the garage. Slowing his pace and moving deliberately, Nick drew his pistol and held it at the low ready, casting quick glances left and right before silently approaching the doors. He nudged one of them open with his footpaw and took a quick peek inside. It was deserted of life, but not empty.

His eyes wide, he pulled open the doors with his free paw, revealing Gideon’s delivery truck parked inside. He quickly checked around and under the vehicle before moving to the driver’s side door. The keys hung motionless from the ignition. Finding the rest of the garage deserted, he moved back outside and crept to the back door of the house. Staying low, he moved close to the door, then carefully stood on tiptoe to peer in the small window that was set into it.

The door led to a small, rustic kitchen. The dingy, moldering interior was dimly lit by the dying evening light penetrating through the grimy windows, which unlike those that faced the road, still retained some of their panes. Nick could make out the glow of the same light through the doorway that led to the front of the house beyond. The place looked deserted and lifeless, cupboards standing partly open here and there, the dust caked floorboards bare of furniture, as if the house was hastily abandoned. His senses sharply focused, his ears swiveling slowly back and forth, alert to the slightest sound, he knelt by the door frame and tried the knob. Finding it unlocked, he gave it a slow push; it swung open with laboured creaking, the sound echoing through the vacant house beyond.

For many seconds he knelt there, pistol clasped in his paws, his ears swung fully front to catch every trace of sound that might come from within the house. Silence was the only reply to his intrusion. Cautiously, he stood and moved inside, fishing his flashlight from his pocket and clicking it on.

“Police! Gideon, are you here?” he called out into the gloom, “It’s Nick! Just take it easy, come on out and talk to me...”

Oppressive silence was the reply, punctuated only by the creaking of the floorboards beneath his paws and the occasional faint, unnerving groan of the house as its decaying frame complained under a strong gust of wind. Particles of dust wafted through the powerful beam of his flashlight as he searched the kitchen with its bright pool of light. Finding nothing of interest, he moved further, through the archway that opened into the front parlor.

At the front of the house was a large living room with a smallish window that opened onto the porch. There was a crumbling brick fireplace on the wall opposite the front door and window, situated at almost the center of the house. A few other doors led from the living room to the bedrooms, and an archway connected the living room to the dining room. Although there room was mostly devoid of furniture, there was something dark in one of the corners. As his flashlight fell on it, Nick froze; the sight of it sent a chill down his spine.

In the center of the pool of light stood the skeletal remains of an old armchair, its metal frame and springs burned black. There was heavy fire damage to the floor and walls around the chair, the ceiling above it blackened with soot. Jenny’s words played back in his mind, _his dad fell asleep with a lit cigarette._ It didn’t take a trained fire investigator to surmise that Gabriel Gray had burned to death in that chair, the victim of his own excess drinking and the smoldering remnants of his cigarette.

Following the charred trail of the fire deeper into the house, Nick found several places where fungus, moss and even some scrub plants had grown on the wood or pushed through the gaps in the burnt floor. The damage was serious, but obviously not enough to completely destroy the house. It seemed the timely intervention of the Bunnyburrow Fire Brigade had saved the house from being reduced to ash, although apparently it came too late to save two of its three occupants. Pushing open the creaky door of one of the bedrooms, Nick peered inside with his light.

It was a small room with a rusty metal bed frame in one corner and a rotten, crumbling wood dresser under the window. There was a pile of rubble in the middle of the floor beneath the gaping hole in the roof Nick had seen on his first visit. Moss encrusted the rotting mattress left on the bed frame, and lichen, moss and small plants grew from the rubble and the floor, their growth encouraged by the rain that had poured in over the years through the open roof. There was an old hardcover book still laying on the dusty top of the dresser. Nick moved to it, brushing away the grime from its cover and straining to make out the faded title: _Adventure Stories for Boys._ Judging by that and the twin sized bed in the corner, it was likely Gideon’s room.

He cast the beam slowly along the dilapidated walls, examining the room closely. The beam fell on the dingy window pane; there was a pawprint on the glass. It looked to be the right size and shape to belong to Gideon, though he couldn’t be absolutely certain. Ultimately, it didn’t matter; it was certain that Gideon had been here, on the property, at some point after his disappearance, and there was a good chance he was still here somewhere. Casting a final look around the room, Nick moved back into the living room, then out the front door, which hung ajar.

He stood on the porch, casting his gaze slowly over the billowing waves of grass that spread out from the driveway and dipped over the next hill. His eyes were naturally drawn to a narrow path faintly hewn through the tall grasses that led to the edge of the wood line.

Stepping off the porch, he found that it was fairly easy to follow the trail through the grass, narrow as it was, to the edge of the woods. There was a corresponding gap in the undergrowth, and Nick pushed his way into the gloom of the woods, the gnarled claws of the mostly bare branches trembling in the gathering wind. Now and then a golden leaf would flutter down to the damp, moldy carpet of red and gold that blanketed the forest floor. The fallen leaves offered another clue – they were brushed aside in places along the path Nick was following, suggesting another set of paws had passed this way recently.

Nick gripped his pistol in his right paw, quickening his pace as he swept away the gathering darkness with his flashlight. The narrow path through the trees soon emerged into a wide clearing at the base of a high escarpment of sheer, rain slicked, moss covered granite. A waterfall thundered down from the hundred foot high cliff, hissing and crashing into a wide, rocky pool at the bottom before the river meandered away to the east. The trail seemed to vanish amid the slick rocks at the base of the waterfall; Nick paced the area, looking for a trace, but found nothing.

“ _Damn it!_ ” he hissed under his breath, the frustration and anxiety mounting. He stared at the sheer cliffs and raging waterfall that barred his path, then turned and cast his gaze back along the rapidly darkening path as a heavy gust of wind rattled through the trees accompanied by the distant crack of thunder. There was no way Gideon could possibly have climbed that cliff – it was essentially a vertical wall of slimy, moss encrusted granite that would have been certain death for any animal that tried it. He had to have missed something; there had to be some clue he overlooked that would tell him where Gideon had disappeared to.

With a final glance at the waterfall, Nick hurried back down the path toward the house again. As he burst from the shadows of the undergrowth to see the restlessly dancing sea of grass leading down to the house, he found his thoughts involuntarily turning to Judy, and he stopped. The cold wild whipped through his fur, swirling into his ears and biting at the soft membranes within, rushing into his nose and delivering the omen of the fierce storm he could see bearing down on him. The rain began to fall as he remembered a conversation he once had with her about crime scene investigation.

 _Seeing all the details is not enough,_ she had said, _you have to understand why the details are there in the first place; everything happens for a reason._

Everything happens for a reason...those words seemed strange to him as they echoed in his mind, filling his thoughts with the sweet, all too familiar tones of her voice. He had missed something...if she were there, she would have told him to look deeper and see the meaning behind what he had observed.

His eyes fell on the house again, and he stared at it. A few silent moments of intense concentration passed before his eyes widened and realization suddenly dawned on him; he threw himself into a sprint down the path among the grass. When he reached the house, he bounded up onto the porch and through the front door, clicking on his flashlight. He went straight to Gideon’s old bedroom, pausing at the threshold for a moment.

Gideon had been in this room, but there was a _reason_ he came in. He knew this house, he could have come here any time, but he left it rotting and abandoned, shunning it for years, maybe more than a decade. Yet recently he came into this very room, his old room, and left his paw print on the window.

Nick cast his light around the floor, his keen eyes focusing in the darkness, picking out every detail. Why had Gideon come in? He was looking for something...Why had he stood— _leaned_ on the window? He was trying to see something...trying to see the light catch it a certain way, or he was taking his bearings...using the window as a starting point to find something…

There was something hidden in this room, something he had left buried for years, but now wanted to recover. Nick swept the flashlight beam slowly back and forth over the rough, rotting floorboards, peering hard at every groove and line of the wood grain.

It was then that he saw it; a glint of something metallic flashed through a narrow crack between two floorboards where one of them was raised slightly. Fearing that faint glimmer might be lost to darkness, Nick almost dove across the room to the spot. Wedging his clawtips, then his fingers under the loose board, he pried it up, finding that it moved with surprising ease, to reveal a small metal box concealed beneath. He grabbed it with his free paw and set it down in the beam of his flashlight.

The exterior of the box was brown and discolored with rust and age, but livid, silvery scratches around the twisted metal of the latch revealed that someone had very recently pried it open. Nick lifted the lid and examined the contents.

Inside he found a few marbles, a sling shot, a rusted old pocket knife, and a folded scrap of paper. There was a dotted line of brown stains that snaked across the back side of the paper, forming a swirling trail, as if something had been laid on top of it. The pattern triggered a memory in the back of Nick’s mind, of something he had read in the course of the investigation…a small detail that he vaguely felt was linked to this. He searched his memory for a moment before it came to him, and the thought sent a chill down his spine; the pattern was rust left by a delicate chain, a costume jewelry necklace of the sort that was found to be missing from Sarah Quickhatch’s bedroom the night she vanished.

He lifted the paper, carefully unfolding it for fear it might disintegrate in his hands. As he examined it, it dawned on him that it was some kind of map drawn in a child’s paw. There were several points on the map, all with fantastical place names like ‘The Forest of Secrets’ and ‘The Castle of Sorrow’ and ‘The Whispering River.’ Nick paused, looking the map over again, then spreading it out on the floor and stroking his chin thoughtfully. He realized with a start that it was actually a map of the Gray homestead. The castle was the house, with the path leading away into the woods and…. _through_ the waterfall!

The map showed that the path passed through ‘The Portal of Forever’ and went beyond the cliffs and deeper into the woods. There was some hidden passage way that somehow went through the waterfall and led further through the forest for some way until it came to ‘Eldorado Fortress’ which bordered a huge open area that seemed to indicate a large, deep hole of some kind, marked ‘Pit of Mysteries.’ On one edge was a black spot marked simply ‘Gold Mine.’ Clutching the map, Nick turned on his heel and dashed out the door, out of the house, and up the path through the sheeting rain as fast as he could run.

When he reached the edge of the pond at the base of the waterfall, he moved closer, picking his way among the jagged rocks. Until he was right at the waterfall’s edge, the cliff seemed impassable, but suddenly, at the right angle, he could just make out a dim crevasse in the rock that passed behind the torrent of rushing water and into the inky blackness beyond.

It was a tight fit, but Nick wedged himself into the crack, crouching low and sliding sideways to pass through. He went deeper and deeper into the cliff, until he found himself inside a cave beneath the waterfall. He could faintly make out a dim glow from a narrow path up the wall of the cave and followed it, picking his way forward and up, until at last he emerged from a narrow tunnel into the leaf littered forest atop the cliffs.

The rain beat furiously through the tangle of bare branches stretched above his head as Nick carefully stalked along the narrow track, his pistol at the low ready, his keen eyes searching the inky wells of shadow ahead. If nothing else, the vicious weather would muffle the sound of his approach from Gideon's keen hearing; it was probably best to catch him unaware.

Nick had an idea of the terrible secret that lay buried somewhere at the end of this path, but he couldn't be certain of all the circumstances. He was also fairly sure that a part of Gideon Gray wanted to end his own life, a purpose that was as easily accomplished by Nick's pistol as by Gideon's revolver. He would have to be extremely careful if he was going to bring Gideon home alive to his family tonight.

A large, dark shape began to emerge from the rain streaked gloom ahead, and by its position, Nick suspected it was the ‘fortress’ marked on the map. In reality, it looked like little more than a one room shanty. Not far beyond would be the gaping maw of the ‘Pit of Mysteries’ – perhaps a derelict quarry? Nick slowed his pace and crouched low, clutching his pistol in both paws even as he hoped against hope that Gideon wouldn't force him to use it tonight.

Creeping up on silent paws to the first empty window frame, he furtively peeked inside, keeping himself as hidden as possible. Seeing nothing, he ducked under the window and scooted over to the door, preparing to rush the room. He pulled his flashlight from his pocket, bringing it up and bracing it against his gun hand. In one fluid motion, he clicked on the searingly bright light and swung into the room, sweeping it completely to clear the corners. He found it empty, but the sight and the smell of it stole his breath.

The decrepit room's decaying walls were lined with crayon drawings wrought in a child's paw, depicting scenes of fairy tales and cartoons-the stuff of a child's fantastical imagination-the fragile, mildewed paper barely preserved by the protection of the still-intact galvanized tin roof. Old tin cups and plates, perhaps abandoned by the cabin's first owner, were arranged on the table by the window as if set for an imaginary meal. An old pot belly stove stood in the opposite corner flanked by two rickety wooden chairs, upon one of which sat a moldering child's doll in the form of a wolverine, its plastic head and faded dress stained with age and mildew. The room was the haunted derelict of a shattered, abandoned childhood, frozen in a moment in time and left to rot.

The one juxtaposition in the scene was an empty whiskey bottle of new manufacture laying on its side atop the stove. Apart from the smell of decay, the atmosphere was thick with the pungent vapor of whiskey, but interwoven with it was another, barely perceptible scent. It was the scent of a fox in a state of emotional chaos. Turning quickly from the chilling scene, Nick plunged back into the turbid night, searching with his keen sight through the sheeting rain.

He suddenly halted and jumped back a step; in the darkness and foul weather, he hadn't seen the edge of the gaping quarry until he was right on it. The bank crumbled under his footpaw, a few rocks and clods of dirt tumbling some thirty feet to the bottom of the wide expanse of the open pit and clattering against a pile of rusted metal refuse. He peered out, straining to see the far side. Through the darkness, he could only just make out an indistinct shape that appeared mammalian, as opposed to the mechanical derelicts that littered the floor of the quarry. Just beyond it, there was a hole, a well of deeper darkness set into the rock face; perhaps a mine shaft – the ‘Gold Mine’ of young Gideon’s imagination.

Skirting along the edge of the cliff, Nick found a narrow path that descended into the quarry bottom and made his way carefully down it, keeping low and hugging the wells of shadow along the wall. He darted out behind the rusted hulk of a steam digger, then dashed out and took cover behind a large digger bucket that stood perhaps fifteen yards from the lone figure standing in the darkness.

He leaned out and braced his pistol against he side of the bucket, keeping as much of himself behind cover as possible while training his sights on the shadowy figure. As he focused intently, he could make out the gleam of a whiskey bottle like the one from the shack in the figure's left paw, and a revolver in the right.

“Gideon, it's Nick!” he yelled out over the pounding of the rain, “Don't do anything stupid! I don't want to hurt you!”

Gideon started, half turning his head, but freezing a moment later. He was drenched, his fur matted and streaked flat by the relentless rain. His whole form was the picture of dejection and misery. “So, Jenny called you out here to find me, then?” he said, his words subtly slurred, “Welcome to my personal Hell, Nick.”

“Gideon, listen to me!” Nick yelled, keeping his gun trained on Gideon's back, “I know this is about Sarah Quickhatch, and I think I know what you're thinking of doing...”

“I thought it out all different ways, Nick...” Gideon slurred, swaying faintly on his feet amid the torrential downpour, “I can’t see no way out of it...it’s a noose around my neck any way you slice it. I just can’t bear to see it come down on Jenny and Ashley...I can’t have them suffer for it...so I figured ain’t no other way out...”

“ _NO!_ ” Nick said, yelling above the din of the raindrops all around them, “Gideon, _listen to me!_ I lost my dad when I wasn’t much older than Ashley; she needs you, believe me! Don’t you make me tell her that her daddy killed himself! Trust me when I tell you, she needs you no matter what you've done, no matter what happens after today. _She needs her father_. Just toss the gun away and let's talk this all out.”

Gideon's ears drooped, his head bowing slightly as Nick's words hit him. He stood motionless and silent for a moment. He hesitated a moment longer before tossing the gun aside. It landed with a muddy splash several feet to his right. Slowly, he raised his paws, the whiskey bottle still dangling from his left. In the dim light, Nick could also see something metallic hanging from Gideon’s right wrist; it was a small pendant on a chain.

“Good, now just keep those paws where I can see them,” Nick said, breaking cover and moving with rapid, skillful sidesteps over to where the revolver lay in the dirt. He grabbed it and swung open the cylinder, pressing the ejector rod against his thigh and dumping the six cartridges before shoving the revolver into his jacket pocket. Keeping his pistol trained on Gideon, he moved a bit closer, scanning up and down for any more weapons. “Be straight with me, Gideon,” Nick said, “Any more weapons on you?”

“No,” Gideon said, a defeated look washing over his whole form.

“How long have we been friends, Gideon?”

Gideon half turned his head, his eyes meeting Nick’s. “’Bout two years, I guess...” he said quietly.

“Do you trust me?” Nick said quietly, keeping his gun trained.

There was a moment of silence as Gideon merely stared, his lips a taut, flat line. At length, he nodded.

“You gonna talk to me and we can figure this all out?”

“Yeah,” Gideon said with a sigh, “We might as well get in out of the rain first.” He motioned toward the mine shaft with his head.

“All right,” Nick said, holstering his pistol and following Gideon into the black maw of the mine shaft. He pulled out his flashlight and clicked it on, casting a bright beam that penetrated deep into the decaying tunnel.

Just inside the entrance, far enough in that the rain couldn't reach them, Gideon sat down on the gravel, pressing his back up against the wall, setting the half empty whiskey bottle beside him. Nick crouched down on his haunches, setting his flashlight on the ground to act as a lamp before crossing his arms over his knees and leaning against the wall. He stared resolutely across at Gideon, watching his every movement carefully.

Gideon laid his burly forearms over his knees, holding up the rusted silvery necklace and watching the little heart pendant at the end of the chain sway slightly in the light of the flashlight. His face bore a stricken, haunted look that Nick had never seen on him before.

“She's here, isn't she?” Nick said at last, his tone somber.

Gideon nodded.

“What happened?”

“If you're gonna understand that, I need to tell you the whole story,” Gideon said, meeting Nick's gaze, his face cast half in deep shadow, half in the stark glow of Nick’s flashlight, “You probably won't believe me, but what I'm gonna tell you is the honest truth.”


	5. Requiem of the Innocent

“There the traveler meets, aghast,

Sheeted Memories of the Past –

Shrouded forms that start and sigh

As they pass the wanderer by –

White-robed forms of friends long given,

In Agony, to the Earth – and Heaven.”

-Poe, _Dream-Land_

 

He stopped on the front porch, staring at the door. It was so quiet he could hear the soft _pat pat pat_ of the blood flowing from his broken nose and gathering in a tiny pool between his paws. It was the second time in two days he had tasted his own blood; the first time was the result of an upstart bunny’s kick, and now his nose was burning with pain from the burly fist of a young wolverine girl. Beaten, outfoxed and humiliated twice by _females_... As he finally gathered the courage to reach for the tarnished brass door knob, he felt he was in for another walloping before the day was through.

He tried to slink past in silence, to avoid the old tod’s notice and just drag himself into bed, but his father smelled weakness and blood the second he stepped through the door. When Gabriel Gray smelled weakness, he smelled the opportunity to take out his bitterness on a target that wouldn’t hit back.

“What the hell’re ya doin’, boy? Where you think yer goin’?” his father slurred, stirring from the dingy arm chair where he’d sprawled himself in a drunken stupor all afternoon. He stank of booze so badly Gideon could smell the whiskey even over the smell of the blood clogging his nose.

Gideon instinctively stiffened, “Just...just goin’ to bed, pa...”

“T’ bed?! What happened to yer nose, boy? _Don’t you lie to me..._ ”

“I...someone punched me, pa,” he said, recoiling and folding down his ears as his father pushed himself up from the chair and stalked with heavy, shambling steps across the floor toward him.

“Who punched you?” Gabriel demanded, a scowl coming over his hard features as he glared with bleary eyes at his son’s cowering form. His father was an imposing figure; his face was all hard edges, his eyes haggard with bitterness and excessive drinking. He was heavy set, with powerful limbs that had been honed by years of menial, back breaking, soul crushing labour.

“A...a wolverine...” he said.

“What wolverine?” a growl of annoyance had already begun to seep into his father’s voice, his paws already beginning to tighten into fists.

“I don’t know her name...she just came outta nowhere...”

“ _A female!?_ ” his father roared, his shoulders shaking with laughter, “You got yer ass whupped by _a girl!?_ You’re pathetic!”

“ _She’s a wolverine, pa!_ ” Gideon protested, hotness rising in his face, anger and humiliation swirling up inside him, “Her fist is nearly as big as my face!”

The reply was a savage back fist across his face that knocked Gideon on the floor, his blood spattering over the floor boards.

“Don’t you _EVER_ backsass me, boy!” his father snarled, his knuckles stained with his son’s blood, “Maybe if you took yer nose outta those damn books and learned to toughen up, you wouldn’t be gettin’ thumped by little girls! What, you gonna cry now, little baby?!”

He couldn’t help it; tears of rage, shame, and helplessness had begun to well up in his eyes as he stared up at his drunken father looming over him. What stung him most deeply in that moment, though, was the realization that he had said almost those exact same words himself only two days earlier, to a young bunny named Judy Hopps who had just wanted to be something more than what she was. The tears streaming down Gideon’s face as his father’s fist rained down on him again were tears of self hate.

“ _Look at you!_ ” Gabriel said with a sneer of disgust, flicking the blood off his paw, “You’re just a little faggot, aren’t you? You better get yer head straight and stop reading all them sissy stories, cuz I won’t have no damn Nancy-boy for a son!”

“Leave off him, Gabe! He ain’t worth gettin’ so surly over,” the voice of Gideon’s mother intruded.

Gideon rolled over and wiped the blood and tears from his vision, his cheek already swelling from his father’s beating. The look of shame and fear in Martha Gray’s eyes spoke up clear enough, though she didn’t dare say more; she would be no more help to her son. She had felt the sting of her husband’s fist longer than Gideon had been alive, and she didn’t dare to try. Taking the opportunity, Gideon sprang up and dashed out the door without a word, running as hard as he could, heading for the only safe place he knew. _His_ place.

Plunging into the cold, damp darkness of the tunnel was usually a release. He would imagine he was passing into another world, a world of imagination, mystery and adventure, a world without angry, drunken fathers and cowed, weak-willed mothers who failed their helpless sons.

Today, he couldn’t leave his world behind. He couldn’t forget the pain and shame and anger, because this time he had finally realized it was inside him, like a poison in his blood. He realized he was becoming just like his hated father, taking out his bottled up fury on smaller, weaker animals. He realized it the instant the wolverine girl’s fist had smashed his nose and knocked him in the dirt, the moment she stood over him and told him it served him right, that now he knew how it felt. Oh, he knew how it felt all right, in ways she could never imagine. He was just like his father, and he had never felt more disgusted and ashamed of himself.

Through the blur of tears and blood, he found his way to the edge of the quarry and collapsed onto all fours. He sobbed thick, heavy, bitter sobs, watching the tears and the blood plunge down to the bottom, disappearing amid the twisted pile of scrap metal below. As he stared at it, weeping, his body shaking with sobs, he felt like a worthless piece of trash that belonged on that scrap heap. The tears wouldn’t stop this time, and he let out an anguished wail that echoed into the distance and died away. Even his cry wasn’t enough to stop the tears, so in despair he gave up and sat himself at the edge of the cliff, burying his face in his paws and letting the tears come.

Maybe half an hour had passed, his crying the only sound in the stillness of the forest, when he heard a twig snap behind him. He spun around in terror, his heart gripped with the awful fear that his father had followed him and found his hideaway. He stared in wide-eyed amazement at what he saw.

There, at the edge of the woods ten feet away, stood the strongly built but graceful form of the wolverine girl who had punched him out at Carrot Days. She was dressed in the same delicate white cardigan and knee length blue skirt she wore earlier, the hem now dirty from her travels through the woods. Her feminine clothes and pretty features didn’t seem to fit with the terrible strength of her punch. She must have been as shocked as he was, because they both stared for several minutes, her jaw hanging slightly open to show her pearly white, sharp teeth.

Her fur was a ruddy mixture of brown and ochre over most of her body, except for her face and her broad, powerful paws, and sinewy forearms, which were inky black. She had a broad, bluntish muzzle that ended in a black nosepad not unlike his own. Small, triangular ears perked up from the fur at the top of her head, the left one giving a flick as she regarded him with a curious tilt of her head. Her black irises faded at the edges to a halo of stormy gray, giving her gaze a very striking and unusual intensity. She tugged gently at the pendant around her neck and her mouth drew briefly into a line; she seemed about to speak before he interrupted her.

“What are you doing here?!” Gideon demanded, turning fully around and rising to one knee, his body instinctively preparing to flee.

“I was about to ask you that,” she replied, taking a step forward, “My friends and I heard an awful wailing sound. They were too scared but I came to check it out. Were you...crying?”

“ _No!_ ” Gideon growled, feeling hotness rising in his cheeks again, thought it was embarrassment rather than anger that triggered it this time.

“Damn!” the girl said, narrowing her eyes at him, as if examining his face, “I didn’t hit ya that hard did I…? You’re a mess...”

“You busted my damn nose, you stupid _skunk bear!_ Ain’t that enough!?”

“I didn’t give you that shiner you’ve got, though...” she said, her voice trailing off as her eyes widened, as though some realization had suddenly struck her.

“ _Just git outta here!_ ” he roared, then winced and recoiled as agony ripped through his muzzle. He turned and sat on the edge of the cliff again, his shoulders slumping as he fought to keep the tears in.

A few quiet moments passed before he was shocked to find her sitting beside him. She was only a hair more than arms length away at first, and she was staring at him.

He glanced at her, then quickly looked away. “What do you want? Get outta here, I said!” he growled under his breath. He felt a bit silly; she had flattened him with one punch, so his usual intimidation tactics were fairly useless against her. He just didn’t know what else to do.

“Your dad hit you, didn’t he,” she said with an air of certainty that made it sound more like a statement than a question.

He replied with silence. He didn’t feel like covering his father’s guilt with a lie, even if that wasn’t the reason for it.

Then she did the last thing he would ever have imagined. She moved close and slipped her arm around his shoulders. With her other paw, she pulled out a hanky and gently dabbed his nose, wiping up the blood. Her touch had a gentleness that he would never believe if he wasn’t feeling it. When she finished, she folded her paws in her lap, looking down at the bloodied cotton rag she held between her sharp clawed fingertips.

Gideon was frozen; he had entered a strange place. He tried to think of the last time anyone had touched him with that much care, but he couldn’t remember it. He glanced over at her, wondering what she would do or say next.

“I’m sorry I hit you,” she said softly. Her voice had a melody to it when all the growl was drained out. He found he liked the sound of it.

“S’all right...” he said, his voice cracking from the dryness in his throat. He swallowed, looking away from her and out over the yawning expanse of the quarry pit. “I guess I earned it,” he added with a sigh.

“Just don’t go bullying those sheep kids again, and I won’t have to slug you anymore,” she said quietly, turning to look at him. “Then maybe we can be friends?” she added, a hopeful, questioning look in her eyes.

He smiled in spite of himself and nodded. “Okay, deal,” he said, “My name’s Gideon, by the way...Gideon Gray.”

“Sarah Quickhatch!” she said with a broad, toothy grin, “Nice to meet you, Gideon.”

“You wanna play? I’ll show you my secret fort!” he said, her warmth and smile making him feel bolder. He stood and took her paw in his. As he led her to the old miner’s cabin nearby, he felt like a weight was lifting from his heart. For the first time in a long time, he felt okay about himself, and more importantly about someone else, and he loved the feeling.

~0~

In the days and weeks that followed, they met often at the secret cabin in the woods. He found that he could be himself in ways he never could anywhere else. He told her of all the stories he had read, and others he imagined. Together they went on daring adventures, sailing for buried treasure on distant islands, or fighting illusory dragons in their tin roofed castle. As they drew closer, she shared the struggles of being an air force colonel’s daughter, of moving every year since she was five, losing friends and starting over.

She was the first mammal he had let into his hidden world. As their bond of trust and friendship grew, he even dared to share the full, awful truth about his abusive father and his withdrawn, battered mother. When he broke down and couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, she wrapped him in her embrace and held him. It didn’t take long for the tears to subside or for him to wrap his arms around her in return.

He found her scent fascinating in a strange, unfamiliar way. She was so warm, and though the muscles that ran beneath her thick fur were almost steely in their tone and strength, she was so gentle it almost took his breath away. He didn’t want to let go, but when she drew back and smiled, he let his paws slip away. It felt like walking in a foreign country; he loved it, but he didn’t understand any of it yet.

One day, she invited him to come to her house.

“Come on, it’ll be fun! Momma’s going to bake cookies with us! You know you love cookies, Gid!”

“I do love cookies...” he said with a chuckle, her smile and laugh quickly making him believe that it was a great idea.

She took his paw in hers, leading him down the road. When they arrived at her front door, their paws were still joined. It was only when she opened the door and stepped in that she let go. He briefly wondered why before Sarah’s mother interrupted them.

“Hi sweety! Oh, and this must be your friend Gideon! Come on in, young man, and let’s have a look at you!”

Gideon, his head slightly bowed, his paws clasped in front of him, stepped through the door. He gave a faint nod. “N..nice to meet you, Mrs. Quickhatch,” he said, his voice somewhat subdued.

“Come in, come in! I’ve got everything ready for our big batch of cookies!” she said, her manner cheerful and inviting. She bustled into the kitchen, beckoning them to follow.

Gideon fell in step behind Sarah, feeling slightly more at ease. Just before entering the kitchen, however, he noticed the imposing form of Colonel Quickhatch sitting in a big arm chair beside the fire in the parlor. He had his newspaper spread out in front of him, hiding his face; only his huge, burly paws with their long-clawed fingers showed around the edges. His right ankle was resting over his left knee, his broad footpaw bobbing at intervals. Gideon stared for a long moment.

Suddenly, the top edge of the paper dropped and a pair of dark eyes set in an even darker face peered out at him. Even with most of his body obscured by the paper, the Colonel was an imposing figure; even his broad, short-muzzled head seemed muscular and hardened. He studied Gideon for a few moments with a sharp, but cold gaze before disappearing behind his paper again.

Gideon was frozen, his heart filled with fear and worry, until the soft touch of Sarah’s paw taking his snapped him back to reality. She led him into the kitchen.

Warmth and the sweet smell of cinnamon and nutmeg immediately washed over him, drowning out any sense of foreboding he may have had moments earlier. The oven was already pre-warming in preparation for their afternoon’s activities, and all the ingredients for gingerbread cookies were already laid out on the long, wood plank table that stood in the center of the old fashioned kitchen.

Mrs. Quickhatch ushered him over to the sink where two step stools were already placed, waiting for him and Sarah to step up. He stood on one and smiled sheepishly at Sarah, who took her place beside him with a broad, eager grin.

“Now, the first step, of course, is to wash your paws! Nice and clean now, then dry them thoroughly and we can begin.”

Gideon dutifully washed, scrubbing furiously to wash away all the grime of their usual play in the woods and gravel pit. He marveled for a moment when he’d finished that his paws had never been so clean. Sarah did the same, working hard to scrub her broad, fluffy paws clean. To his surprise, Gideon found himself staring admiringly at them, noticing the silky fur and elegantly proportioned fingers.

“Ready to bake!?” Sarah said, snapping him out of his daze.

He blinked and nodded, “I...I guess so...never done any baking before.”

“Don’t worry, we’ve got you covered!” Sarah said with a giggle in her voice. She clasped his paw in hers and led him over to the table where the ingredients stood.

There was a large bowl standing beside an impressive looking standing mixer, surrounded by the other ingredients. There was a stick of butter, a carton with several eggs, molasses, vanilla, sugar, the cinnamon and nutmeg he had smelled when he entered, and a little bowl with shreds of yellowish stuff. Gideon gave it a sniff and discovered it was shredded lemon peel. He had never known his mother to bake anything, so all of this might as well have been the contents of an alchemist’s lab.

“Okay, so first, we need to crack the eggs into the bowl, like this...” Sarah began with an air of a teacher guiding her student. She proceeded to grasp one of the eggs and tap it sharply on the edge of the bowl, splitting the shell and opening it all with one paw.

Gideon watched with much interest, nodding silently as she glanced over at him. He blinked in surprise as she dropped another egg into his palm.

“Your turn!” she said with a grin.

He tentatively tapped the egg on the edge of the bowl, but found it didn’t crack. He decided more force was needed and smashed it hard against the lip of the bowl. Half the contents of the egg went in, the other half slid down the side and all over his paw.

Sarah let out a melodious giggle. “Don’t worry, I was the same my first time,” she said. She took up another egg and set it in his paw, then proceeded to wrap her paw around his, guiding it to the edge of the bowl. She demonstrated the correct force needed, letting him get a feel for it.

He smiled at her, taking up another egg and trying again. This time, he managed it quite well, with only a couple of shell bits dropping in. She fished them out with her clawtip and flicked them into a trash bin set beside the table.

“Nice! Okay, now the butter...”

She guided him through the process step by step, with Mrs. Quickhatch merely looking on and offering whatever minor assistance was needed. When it came time to beat the batter, Gideon got carried away and set the mixer to its maximum setting, chaos briefly ensuing as bits of dough flew in every direction. When Mrs. Quickhatch hit the power switch, Gideon looked utterly crestfallen, wondering if he was about to be tossed out the front door, but the response from Sarah and her mother was laughter rather than anger. It was totally unexpected and foreign to him; he couldn’t stop smiling.

They put the cookies into the oven to bake and played together for the rest of the afternoon, running around the back yard. As the sun was setting, they sat side by side on the front porch munching their gingerbread cookies. A cool breeze wafted over their fur, teasing their inner ears, carrying with it a faint tinge of the coming winter. They sat in silence for a long time before Gideon glanced over at Sarah, slipping his paw into hers with a gentle smile. She looked over at him, her mouth full of gingerbread, waiting to hear what he might say.

“I...had a really great time today,” he said quietly, his faint smile never fading, “Thank you for inviting me. Thanks for everything, really...”

“Whatcha mean?” she asked, tilting her head slightly and taking another bite of her cookie, which was rapidly dwindling away.

He leaned a little closer, looking down at their paws clasped between them. “Well, um, I guess...you’re my first _real_ friend, and _I really like you..._ ”

She giggled a bit, chomping the last fragment of cookie. “I like you too; I’m glad I gave you another chance.”

“Thing is...” he said, struggling to find the words to express the storm of unfamiliar feelings swirling inside him.

“Time to come in for the night, Sarah,” her father’s harsh base tones suddenly interjected. Gideon froze; how long had he been standing there?

Sarah turned and looked up at her father with a pout. “Awwww, dad!” she said, sighing sharply before she added, “Okay, fine. But couldn’t Gideon stay for dinner?”

Gideon turned in place, keeping his rump on the porch. He looked from Sarah to her father, but didn’t dare say a word.

“Not tonight, sweetheart,” Mr. Quickhatch said in a gentle but very final tone, “His folk’s’ve probably got dinner waiting for him, and I don’t want them to feel put out because of us.”

Sarah shrugged, seeming to accept the explanation. Gideon sensed there was something else going on. She smiled at him and waved. “Bye Gideon!” she said, “See you soon!”

He nodded at her, mustering a smile for her sake, “Thanks for everything.”

Colonel Quickhatch watched his daughter head into the house, waiting until she closed the door behind her before crossing his burly arms over his barrel chest and taking a step closer to Gideon. The little fox resisted the urge to cower.

“Seems you and my daughter have become very close _friends_ , isn’t that so, son?” Col. Quickhatch began, his features set like stone and his cold gaze riveted on Gideon.

Gideon nodded after a moment’s hesitation.

“Well, that’s just fine, so long as it stays _just that_ , young man. I want you to know, I don’t have any problem with foxes, wolves, or any other mammal, like some folks do,” Col. Quickhatch continued,

“But I’m a very old fashioned animal when it comes to courting, especially insofar as it concerns my daughter. I feel it’s really best that everyone stays in their lanes, if you follow me, son.”

Gideon swallowed the dryness creeping up his throat and nodded again, his eyes wide.

“Certainly nothing wrong with a fox and a wolverine being _just friends_ , right, young Mr. Gray?” the colonel repeated, leaning closer, a faint growl rumbling at the back of his throat as he spoke, though his face remained placid. There was a momentary pause before he tilted his head, his shiny, almost black eyes boring into Gideon. “ _Sound off, son, I can’t hear you!_ ” Col. Quickhatch snapped.

“Y—yes, sir!” Gideon barked, instinctively backing away, stumbling and nearly falling in a heap at the bottom of the porch stairs.

The colonel drew himself erect, swinging his paws behind his back and standing with a distinctly military bearing, a placid smile on his muzzle. “Excellent!” he said, “I see we understand each other. We’ll get along just fine so long as we keep that understanding. Have a good night, Gideon Gray.”

Gideon watched as Colonel Quickhatch turned sharply on his heel, striding through his front door and shutting it behind him. He turned and walked quickly from the house, trying to shake the feeling of unease that was suddenly clutching at his heart.

~0~

The sense of unease lessened, but never disappeared. Even days afterward, Gideon was nagged by a sense that something was about to go wrong. On a dreary Wednesday afternoon in mid September, it finally did.

He and Sarah were whiling away the drizzly, dull gray afternoon in the shelter of their derelict cabin near the quarry, reading and doodling in silence, when Sarah’s melodious voice suddenly broke through Gideon’s thoughts.

“Did you ever like any girls?” she said absently. She was lounging in a wooden chair with her footpaws resting atop the table, her ankles crossed over one another. She let the book she was reading flop onto her chest.

Gideon turned to look at her, his brow furrowed, but his hesitation left a pregnant pause that she quickly filled.

“I can’t hold back, I have to tell you!...I totally have a crush on this boy at school. His name’s Logan Carcajou, and oh my gosh, Gid, he’s _so_ _cute_ _._ ”

Gideon felt a hollow, aching sensation strike him in the chest, like a chunk had been ripped out of him and the rest was calling out for what was taken. A pained expression washed over his face, but he fought it back and forced himself to speak. “Th...the new wolverine kid?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly. He swallowed and stared at her.

Sarah looked almost giddy. She grinned and wiggled slightly in her seat. “I hope he asks me out...maybe I should ask him out...should I ask him out?” she said, hiding behind her book in an attack of bashfulness and peering over it at Gideon.

Gideon stood up, turning toward the door. “I um...just remembered a chore I had to do for my dad...” he said quietly, “If I don’t get to it, he’ll whup me somethin’ fierce. See you later, Sarah.” Without another word, and without listening to anything else she said, he dashed off into the woods.

He didn’t see her for the rest of the day, but as he lay in bed that night listening to the rain relentlessly pelting the roof above his head, he decided he couldn’t take it anymore. He had to act; she had to know how he felt, or he’d regret his silence forever.

Throwing back the covers, the crept with furtive steps to the door of his room, slowly turning the knob and opening it only a crack. He heard his father’s heavy snoring coming from the living room, encouraging him to open the door further and poke his head out. Gabriel was slumped in his arm chair, drunk and sound asleep.

Gideon quickly dressed himself, leaving his pajamas on the bed, and headed for the door. Crouching low on all fours, he slipped into the hall, hooking around the corner and heading for the kitchen door at the back of the house. Before leaving, he grabbed a box of matches he knew his father kept in the drawer nearest the back door.

He then quietly let himself out and closed the door behind him with extreme caution, being sure not to make a sound. The low din of the heavy rain masked whatever trace of noise he might have made, and with a few desperate bounds, he was away over the back fence into the rolling fields.

It didn’t take long to reach Sarah’s house, pushed onward as he was by a fire in his belly he couldn’t fully understand. He crept up the lawn of her house and tossed a pebble at her window, then another. As the third one hit, she appeared in shadowy silhouette at the window, sliding it open.

“Gid!” she said, looking surprised to see him, her voice a sharp whisper, “What’re you doing here?”

“I thought it’d be fun to sneak out and play at our fort for a bit!” he said with a broad, roguish grin, “We don’t have to be gone too long, just a little while. We can light a fire in the stove and it’ll be real cozy like!”

She laughed quietly, looking down at him with an amused smirk, “It’s real cozy like in here, you silly fox.”

“Come on, you scared or somethin’?” he said, gently teasing, his paws on his hips, “You gonna be daddy’s perfect princess all your life? Live a little!”

She crossed her arms and pouted cutely at him for a moment; he could tell the challenge was wearing away at her resolve. Finally, she let out a sigh and a grin. “Fine!” she said, “But not too long, all right?” Without waiting for further conversation, she vanished back into the room, reappearing several minutes later dressed and wearing a raincoat. She looked at him expectantly.

“Just a minute!” Gideon said with a grin, holding up his index finger. He dashed to the side of the house, grasping the ladder that lay propped on its side against the house. He lifted it and manage to heft it onto the grass, but it proved too heavy for him to carry, so he took to dragging it across the wet lawn until it was in about the right spot. He then lined it up with her window and proceeded to lift it from the top end, working his way down the ladder until it swung up and rested against the eaves under Sarah’s window.

She crept out, carefully making her way over the slick metal roof, her broad pawpads giving her plenty of traction despite the wet weather, until she could grasp the ladder and climb down. Paw in paw, she and Gideon dashed away into the rain streaked darkness, barely suppressing their giggles, until they vanished into the tree line on their way to their secret place.

They laughed and dashed their way through the woods, taking turns chasing each other, until they finally reached their dark cabin at the edge of the old quarry. Gideon grabbed a flashlight he had stashed beside the doorway and clicked it on, then headed over to the wood stove in the corner.

He tossed in a bunch of paper they had laying around for drawing on and piled in several sticks of old dry wood that was stacked by the stove. He pulled out the box of matches he had grabbed from the kitchen on his way out, picking out a match and striking it up. The little flame jumped to life, casting its small glow about the room. Carefully, Gideon applied it to a little corner of paper that stuck out from under the stack of wood in the potbelly stove, and it spread and grew until it burst to life. The fire quickly engulfed the wood, filling the room with its warmth and soft orange glow. Satisfied that all was set, Gideon closed the barred grate of the stove to make sure none of the wood fell out, and sat back on his haunches, hugging his knees and watching the dance in its cast iron prison.

Sarah sat down cross legged beside him, resting her paws over her knees and staring into the fire with contented smile. She let out a soft sigh. “This is nice,” she said, not particularly directing the comment at him.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, watching the way the glow of the flames danced over her dark face with its gray-haloed black eyes. He felt his heart heave in his chest, and he knew it was now or never.

“Sarah, there’s something I gotta tell you,” he said softly, his voice only just audible above the din of the rain on the tin roof.

She turned to face him, watching him expectantly, though her face gave no sign she had any idea what he was about to say.

“I...um...I want you to know how special you are to me,” he began, turning to face her, looking resolute as he summoned all his courage, “I’ve never known anyone like you...and I feel like...like you saved my life.”

A blush showed itself in the membranes of her ears and she flashed a shy smile, “Thanks Gid, that’s sweet.”

“There’s something else you need to know...” he said, pausing and swallowing the lump in his throat, “I...I love you, Sarah.”

She looked shocked; her mouth hung open but no words came out. Overcome with a sense that she didn’t understand, Gideon leaned forward and kissed her supple lips without stopping to think twice. He felt an almost electric thrill run through him at the brief contact before he sat back on his rump again.

She looked even more shocked, but the expression quickly turned to fear. She drew back, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly a few times, her eyes wide. When she stood up, Gideon’s heart sank, but it was when she turned with panic in her eyes and dashed out the door that icy fingers of horror gripped it.

“Sarah, wait!” he yelled, scrambling onto his paws and dashing after her.

He had only made it a few steps out the door when her guttural scream of terror met his ears over the roar of the vicious storm. Desperate, heart stopping panic clutched at him and he scrambled to the edge of the cliff.

Overwhelmed by his advances, she had rushed out blindly and not seen the edge of the cliff in the gloom and rain. He was just in time to hear the sickening thud and horrific tearing sound as she slammed into the pile of scrap metal debris at the bottom. He looked on in wide eyed disbelief as she bounced a couple of times, landing several feet away on the quarry floor, a motionless, misshapen lump of shadow in the darkness.

“ _SARAH!_ ” he screamed, his breaths coming in panicked gasps as he flung himself toward the trail that led down the cliff side to the bottom of the quarry. As he drew closer to her motionless form, he felt bile rising in the back of his throat; she was surrounded by a rapidly growing pool of blood and there was a long piece of steel rebar that had plunged through her chest near her heart and burst out her back just below her left shoulder blade. The horrific sight turned his heart to water and his knees to jelly, and he collapsed onto all fours, tears streaming from his eyes, and crawled the last few feet to her, the mud squelching between his fingers.

“G...gid...” she whispered, her blood gurgling in her throat, threatening to choke out her words, her body stirring slightly.

Gideon choked and drew her into his arms, cradling her head. He knew the instant he touched her that she was dying. He was desperate to help her, to save her, even as he felt her slipping away, her blood spreading over the rain slicked dirt.

“Sarah, I’ll...I’ll get help, I can call an ambulance...” he stammered, hearing how foolish and pointless it sounded, yet needing to offer them both some faint glimmer of hope.

She shook her head, opening her gray-ringed black eyes and looking up at him with a faint, pained smile. She managed to raise her paw and cup it around the back of his neck. “Too late,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

A sob wrenched itself from him, his tears invisible amid the torrential rain, although they streaked freely from his eyes. “Oh Sarah, I’m so sorry...please... _please_ …” he said, his whole form shuddering in sheer horror and despair.

She shook her head again weakly and her smile broadened, a faint flash of life appearing in her eyes. “Kiss me goodbye, Gid,” she said, “Don’t let me...die alone...”

She gave a faint tug at the back of his neck, and he cupped her cheek with his free paw, bowing to kiss her softly. This time he felt her return his kiss, felt her forgiveness flow through the fleeting, tender caress of her lips against his. Then, somehow, he felt her slip away, and as she sank into his arms, he knew she was dead.

A low, agonized moan escaped his lips and he slumped forward, pressing his forehead against hers. Slowly, his moan subsided into fierce, wailing sobs that echoed and faded away amid the cold, relentless, unforgiving roar of the autumn rain.


	6. Though Soft Ye Tread

Yet even these bones from insult to protect 

Some frail memorial still erected nigh, 

With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked, 

Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 

-Thomas Gray

 

As his voice died away amid the cold shadows of the mine tunnel, a shudder ran through Gideon’s form and his eyes glazed into a distant, haunted stare. Several seconds of appalled silence followed, unbroken save for the muffled din of the storm outside.

Nick ran his paw down his muzzle, cupping it around the end for several moments as he stared at the dirt floor, trying to collect his troubled thoughts. “Why didn't you tell anyone?” he said finally, breaking the anguished silence, “It was an accident...”

“Come on, Nick! Who would believe me, a mean spirited, lyin’, shifty fox?” Gideon said, “A dozen kids saw her bust my nose wide open, and nobody but her parents knew about us bein' friends. I was terrified they'd lynch me. I...I felt so guilty and ashamed and scared I couldn't bring myself to breathe a word of it. I buried her in the mine, behind an old wooden wall blocking an unfinished tunnel. I piled rocks over her body... _I couldn’t even dig her a proper grave._ ”

“How did you manage to get back home without anyone noticing?” Nick asked.

“Pa was so drunk he was dead to the world,” Gideon said, “I snuck in, dried myself off and ran my clothes through the wash real quick, then tossed ‘em in the dryer and went to bed. Pa was none the wiser when he woke up, and when the Sheriffs came around, he told ‘em I was there all night and slammed the door in their faces.”

He heaved a shuddering sigh, wiping his paws down his face and staring at the dirt, “So many times I felt like I should tell someone, but every time the guilt and shame and fear would come rushing back. It got worse when Jenny and Ashley came along, because I feared my secret would destroy them too, so I kept it to myself all these years, and its been eating me alive, Nick...”

“When you saw Mrs. Quickhatch, it all came rushing back again, heavier than ever,” Nick said, his voice low.

Gideon buried his face in his paws, his whole body given over to wrenching sobs. Several seconds had passed before he could manage to form words, his voice broken and ragged. “Something...something was different that day...seeing her, I understood it all in a way I never had before,” he said, running his fingers through his headfur, “Being a father, I finally understood how they suffered. When I saw Colonel Quickhatch...how shattered he was...it strangled me. I couldn’t bear it no more, Nick...I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know if I should tell them everything, kill myself to spare my family the disgrace, or put enough TNT into this place to bury her forever, so nobody would ever find her in a million years. I froze up...sittin’ here in my own little patch of Hell, tryin’ to numb the pain with booze, feeling like every choice was the wrong one, until you found me.”

Silence descended over them for several minutes, unbroken save for Gideon’s quiet sobbing. Nick stared at the dirt between them as he processed the tragic story he’d been told. Finally, he raised his eyes and stared at Gideon, breaking the silence, “I...it’s my duty to tell you that there’s a chance that charges might be laid against you, and that you don’t need to say anything further, but if you do, whatever you say may be used in evidence. At the very least, there’s going to be a Coroner’s inquest.”

Gideon shook his head, “I’m done with silence...I’ve had eighteen years of it...eighteen years too many.”

“I think you know what the right choice is, Gideon,” Nick said at length, picking up his flashlight and standing up. After a brief pause, he held out his paw to help Gideon up.

Gideon stared at Nick’s paw for several long moments, as if summoning the will to act. Finally he took hold of it and stood up, a grim expression set on his muzzle. Nick gave him the flashlight and he turned and began walking slowly, heading deeper into the mine tunnel.

A few minutes down the tunnel, they came to a branch that led off to the left a few feet before ending abruptly at a ramshackle wooden partition, the makeshift wall comprised of decaying boards nailed against two vertical posts. The beam of the flashlight penetrated through the narrow gaps between the boards, showing that the tunnel continued beyond for some ways into thick darkness. Gideon’s axe stood propped against the right hand wall of the branch tunnel, as if he had brought it that far and then lost the will to go further. He gave the flashlight to Nick and took hold of the axe, waiting for Nick to step back before swinging it up on his shoulder.

He stared for several moments at the decrepit wooden barrier, the doorway into the darkest part of his past. Finally, with a snarl, he brought the axe crashing down against the boards. He drew it back and hacked at the wall again and again, his lips curled into a sneer of anger and disgust.

The moldering wood crumbled and gave way beneath the withering rain of blows from Gideon’s axe. His teeth were clenched, his lips drawn into a vicious snarl, as if he were tearing apart the edifice of his own failure and folly. At last, the final rotten planks were broken away, revealing a narrow, dark chamber, the end of which was shrouded in inky shadow.

Tossing aside the axe, Gideon led the way with faltering steps. He walked as though his whole form was oppressed with the awful weight of the tragedy he was uncovering after so many long years of darkness and silence.

Nick followed close behind, his flashlight tearing through the shadows with searing brightness that flooded the chamber. At last, they reached the end, and the light revealed a small, oblong mound of piled stone fragments. Scrawled in white chalk on the wall behind the mound, faded by time and barely legible, was her name. Below that was the simple, yet fitting epitaph: _She was loved._

Gideon took one last step before his knees gave out beneath him and he crumpled, his paws clutching the dirt at the foot of her grave. The soft patter of his tears falling in the parched dust echoed through the otherworldly stillness before the quiet was shattered by a wail of anguish and grief. It was a terrible sound that wrenched itself from his body, his back arched, his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth gaping. At length, it spent itself and died away in an agonized whimper as he pressed his forehead into the dust.

If pain were a sound, Nick just heard it. There were no words for such a moment; he merely knelt and placed his paw over Gideon’s shoulder. As the heaving sobs gradually faded, Nick ventured to speak. “Gideon...I need to get the Sheriffs and the Coroner up here...are you going to be okay alone while I step outside to get reception?” he said, keeping his paw in place on Gideon’s back.

Gideon nodded, raising his head from the dust, but keeping his paws planted on the floor, his head hanging low. “Yeah,” he said, his voice a ragged whisper.

Nick stood, hesitating a moment before grabbing the axe and turning to head back the way he came, leaving the flashlight with Gideon and using the light on his phone to find his way back.

As Nick’s steps faded away and silence enveloped him, Gideon stirred. He crawled forward, resting on his knees and placing his shaking paw on one of the dusty stones that comprised Sarah’s humble cairn. He heaved a deep sigh, swallowing the lump in his throat and trying to steady himself before he spoke.

“Hi Sarah,” he said softly, his voice a rough edged whisper in the darkness, “It’s Gid. I finally came back, after all this time...I hope...I hope wherever you really are now, you can hear me somehow.”

He stared at the silent mound of dusty stones with his paw resting atop them; it seemed strange, but in that moment he wanted, _needed_ any connection to her he could make. The awful image of her desiccated bones, bones he knew lay only inches from his fingertips, flashed in his mind, but he forced himself to accept it rather than chase it away as he always had before.

“I’ve been running from you, from this, for almost twenty years...but the truth is that part of me was sittin’ right here all along,” he continued, spreading his fingers and pressing more firmly on the pile of stones, as if anchoring himself to it, “I never could get away from you. I guess it’s because I have things to say that I never got to say when you were here.”

There would be no more running, no more hiding. He had to face the horrible truth, not only for the sake of her parents, but for his family, and for his own soul. “I’m so sorry I was such a miserable coward, Sarah...” he said, his voice faltering, “You tried to teach me courage, but I guess it wasn’t enough back then. Please forgive me for leaving you here...forgive me that it took so long to come back to take you home.”

He felt warm tears running down his cheeks, but he continued, “Losing you like I did...keeping silent...bearing the guilt and the shame...it’s been eatin’ me alive all this time, but no more. It’s past time you went home and got the burial you deserve. Maybe...maybe then I can finally become the mammal you always wanted...you always _believed_ I could be. I’ve...always loved you, Sarah; I’m so, so sorry that I brought you to this. I can’t take back what happened...I can never fix it...all I can do is live a life you would be proud of. I will...I promise.”

He stood up, swallowing a sob and wiping his face with the back of his paw, taking one last look at the little mound of stones with its chalk-scrawled epitaph. He felt as if a heavy oppression was lifted from his being; his first instinct was to cling to it, to sink his claws into that mass of self torture and hang onto it, but for once he found himself letting it go. Sarah would never resent him, he realized; she never did, even at the end. ‘Kiss me goodbye’ she had said—she forgave him. She would have scolded him, if she could, for dragging around the crushing burden of guilt and self loathing all this time. Now, as he let it go, he saw her smiling face in his mind’s eye, saw her little nod of approval, and it made him smile too in spite of the streams of fresh tears streaking down his cheeks.

~0~

Within an hour, the stillness and quiet of the hidden quarry in the woods was shattered by the rhythmic beats of helicopter rotors. It was necessary to enlist the help of a privately owned lift chopper from an airfield in the next county in order to transport Sarah’s remains. Several Deputies had already arrived on scene, having come up through the hidden passage under the waterfall, by the time the lumbering chopper appeared over the expanse of the quarry and slowly descended into the pit.

As the bulbous fuselage of the chopper loomed into view over the open expanse of the quarry floor, the little group turned to watch it slowly descend. The rain had tapered off, but the powerful prop wash of the large chopper still whipped the rain into a stinging swarm of droplets as it landed. Nick and Gideon stood a little ways outside the mouth of the mine tunnel, watching and waiting. As the large sliding door on the side of the fuselage opened, revealing the grim faced, antlered form of Sergeant Buckerton, Nick gave a gentle, reassuring pat on Gideon’s shoulder.

Buckerton jumped out first, keeping his head low as he turned and held out a hoof to help the next passenger. Jenny was second to emerge, her other paw clasped tightly around Ashley’s. They ducked and dashed out from beneath the chopper’s rotors into the open ground, Ashley’s small form half engulfed by Jenny’s overcoat. A few seconds later, Mr and Mrs Quickhatch appeared at the doorway; it had been a calculated move on Nick’s part, a suggestion he had given Buckerton, in hopes of tempering the rage that they would likely feel when they found out the truth about Sarah’s death.

He needed them to see the reality of the situation, especially Arthur – he had to see the face of the innocent little girl who would be devastated if anything happened to her father. Without that chance for empathy, that little shred of kinship, Nick feared that Arthur's grief and rage might spiral out of control and end in murder. Despite having agreed to it, the look that Buckerton shot Nick over Arthur’s shoulder revealed that he still wasn’t totally sure it was a wise choice.

Jenny ran to Gideon, halting a few steps away and staring with a deeply pained expression on her delicate features. Ashley had tucked herself behind her mother’s leg, clinging on tightly and looking apprehensive. A long silence intervened before Gideon was the first to speak.

“I’m so sorry, Jenny,” he said, his voice quiet but measured.

Nick watched her paw ball into a fist; for a moment, Nick was sure she would slug Gideon in the face. Her fingers twitched, her fist slackening and the hard edges of her expression melting away. She threw her arms around Gideon’s neck, burying her face against his chest with a faint sob. “ _I love you so much, you idiot,_ ” she said softly, “ _Don’t you ever leave me again._ ”

Gideon said nothing else; he simply wrapped his arms around her and held her close, gently stroking the back of her head. When Ashley ran up and wedged herself between them, hugging both their legs, he rested his burly paw over her head.

A faint smile crept over Nick’s muzzle, but it quickly vanished when he saw the Quickhatches standing at a distance watching them with beleaguered stares. It was a stark reminder amid that tender moment that nobody was really going to emerge unscathed from this; Nick may have helped to save a life, but many lives would be irrevocably scarred by the events of the night.

He watched Buckerton half blocking their progress, flanked by a deputy, as he explained the situation, trying his best to prepare them for the awful truth they would find inside the mine. A truth they had sought for nearly twenty years, but might not really be prepared to face. Nick watched expressions of horror and despair wash over their faces, followed by a strange sort of relief. They clung to each other, their broad paws entwined as Buckerton and the accompanying deputy led them toward the black maw of the tunnel. Neither of them looked at Gideon as they passed, and he kept his eyes tightly shut and his muzzle tucked against Jenny’s neck.

Several quiet minutes passed before a low, moaning wail of grief emerged from the mouth of the tunnel like a cry from the depths of hell itself. It sent a shiver down Nick’s spine. Not long after, Buckerton strode up and stood at Nick’s side, his hooves resting over the pouches of his duty belt, his gaze fixed straight ahead.

“You did great work on this case, Wilde,” he said in his low drawl, his voice slightly more subdued than usual, “Don’t doubt it, no matter what happens.”

“You sure about that, Beau?” Nick said, his gaze fixed on the rotting cabin perched atop the cliff on the quarry’s edge, its windows black voids in the ashen gray siding. “Seems like nothing good’s coming out of this mess...sometimes I wonder if some truths are better left buried,” he added, his brows slightly furrowed, his words laced with a grim tone.

“Really?” Buckerton said, shooting Nick a sidelong glance, “So what’s the alternative, then?”

Nick said nothing, merely stared, his paws thrust deep into his jacket pockets.

“The truth ain’t always pretty, Nick,” Buckerton said, slipping a toothpick between his lips, “But it’s always the truth, and it’s gonna come out one way or the other. Sometimes all you can do is try to lessen the damage.”

Nick let out a faint sigh, casting a brief glance at the Sergeant. “I gotta go; it’s a long drive back to Zootopia,” he said, “I’ll be sure to send a complete case report once I get back to the office. Give me a shout if they need me to testify at the inquest.” With that, he strode off into the night, headed for the trail through the waterfall. Above him, the paid face of the moon emerged from a swirl of drifting clouds, casting the world in a silver glow that he found somehow out of place.

-~<0>~-

Nick rose late the following day; it was after eleven before he summoned the wherewithal to get himself out of bed. The impression of stark emptiness that struck him upon his late arrival home to the condo the previous night was made worse by the intrusion of late autumn sunlight through the ceiling height windows.

Everything was just as he left it, every picture and decoration in its rightful place, The roses that Judy had so lovingly and expertly grown in the planter boxes outside their kitchen window still held valiantly to most of their petals despite the relentless encroachment of the cold, the picture of them paw in paw on their wedding day still hung in its rightful place above the mantle in the living room, and yet it couldn’t be more wrong because she wasn’t there. Although he knew her plane was due to arrive the next day, he felt her absence more keenly than ever.

He tried to quiet his troubled thoughts by ignoring them, puttering around the condo getting things straightened up for Judy’s return and going out to stock up on groceries after a week of bachelor chow. None of it could dispel the specter of the grisly discovery he’d unearthed in Bunnyburrow, the ugly truth that couldn’t stay buried. It wasn’t the thought of what might happen to Gideon and his family that disturbed him the most, however, it was the unexpected realization that the ugly truth of his own past, of one night in particular, still haunted him, was still eating away at him, and that it could still do serious damage to his family if he let it.

The vicious rain storm that had battered the city so furiously the past week had finally dissipated, leaving the sky a broad stroke of azure dotted with scattered wisps of gray. The sun was dipping low on the horizon, washing the skyline in shimmering gold. Nick stared out over the glory of the view from his living room window, his paw pressed against the glass. When even this magnificence wouldn’t quiet his mind, he resolved to make the call he’d been thinking about since he woke up.

He turned and scooped up his phone from the side table beside his favourite arm chair, quickly navigating to Wolfram’s name in the contact list and hitting the call button.

As usual, Wolfram answered within two rings, though his tone sounded less edgy than usual. “Eli here, what’s up, Nick?” he said.

“Hey Eli,” Nick began, “Are you working?”

“Surprisingly, no,” Wolfram said with a faint chuckle, “I guess nobody’s murdered anyone so far this set of days off, so I’m actually at home for once.”

“I was hoping you’d come over for a few beers, if you’re up for it,” Nick said, trying to sound nonchalant.

There was a brief, yet distinct pause on the other end, a sure sign that his astute friend was already noticing something amiss with him, even from such a brief exchange. Typical. “Sure thing, Nick,” Wolfram said a beat later, “Be by in half an hour or so.”

Nick was sitting on the couch, fingers entwined, his nosepad resting against them as he stared out the living room windows when the knock on the front door roused him from his grim train of thought. He wrapped his fingers around the half finished bottle of beer on the table, taking it with him down the hall. He checked the peep hole, and seeing it was Eli, paused a moment to plaster on his most nonchalant, sly-fox smile before opening it.

Eli stood in the hall, a case of Lion’s Pride Winter Ale dangling from his left paw, his right thrust casually into his trouser pocket. Uncharacteristically, he was dressed in faded blue jeans, a slate gray collared shirt with no tie, and a brown corduroy sport jacket. He smiled warmly as Nick opened the door, an expression that only those closest to him would ever see on his ordinarily stoic features.

“Hey, thanks for coming, Eli!” Nick said, trying to sound upbeat. He had a feeling his pretense was useless, and that the cunning detective would see right through the mask. That would be fine, too. “Come on in,” he added, stepping aside.

“My pleasure; I brought plenty of provisions...” Eli said with a wry grin, making his way down the hall toward the living room. Nick shut the door and fell in step behind him, polishing off the last swig from his first beer of the evening.

Eli moved into the kitchen, pulling out a pair of ales from the case before putting the rest into the fridge. Pulling a bottle opener from a drawer, he proceeded to crack them open, watching Nick intently as the fox settled onto the couch and plunked his empty in the middle of the coffee table. Nick’s gaze was fixed on the vivid hues of the sunset outside the window, a faint, fretful expression on his features.

“How’s your brief return to bachelorhood treating you, Nick?” Eli asked, strolling out from behind the kitchen bar counter and handing Nick a beer before sitting down on the opposite end of the couch.

Nick accepted the bottle with a faint nod and a fainter smile. When he looked over, he found the detective’s incisive ochre stare already fixed on him. He held out his bottle, slightly inclining the neck toward Eli, who tapped his own against it in a silent toast before they both downed a swig of the sweet, toasty ale. “Been all right,” Nick said, “Been missing Judy. She’s coming home tomorrow on a late afternoon flight from Zoo York. A little surprised you didn’t go to that conference as well – you’d have a lot to contribute.”

“Surprised _you_ didn’t go,” Eli gently retorted with a knowing smirk, taking another swig and leaning back into the plush upholstery, “Since when can you be separated from your Carrots?”

“As the saying goes,” Nick said with a shrug and a soft chuckle, “’Nevermind your happiness, do your duty.’Somebody’s got to run the squad while the Sergeant’s away.”

“Duty before love?” Eli said, taking a swig, “You never cease to surprise me, Corporal Wilde.” When he raised his bottle to his lips, the movement briefly revealed the rosewood grip of Eli’s pistol, slung in its shoulder holster under his left arm.

“Should come as no surprise to you, by the looks of it,” Nick said with a nod toward the gun, “You’re no stranger to the idea of duty before everything else, especially self.”

A pensive look came over Eli’s features, his expression hardening for a moment. “You didn’t invite me over to talk about my personal ordeals, though, right Nick?” he said, his face softening again as he turned his gaze to the waning sunset with its rich hues of scarlet and orange, “I’m guessing it has something to do with that nice bit of detective work you did on the cold case in Bunnyburrow, right?”

Nick shot a startled glance at Eli.

Noticing the surprise on Nick’s face, Eli let out a low chuckle. “Well, I suppose I could dazzle you by mentioning the flecks of soil on your front mat – a dark rusty colour particular to the burrows and not found in town, or perhaps the faint traces of lavender scent on your clothing and fur – the sure sign of Mrs. Hopps laundry detergent, not to mention the peculiar state of cleanliness of the apartment, which would be quite a bit less orderly than this if you’d been here without Judy for the past several days,” he said, taking a dramatic pause and casting a bemused smile at Nick, “But of course I watched the news today, and although they didn’t mention you by name, talk of an officer from ZPD assisting made it a fairly simple conclusion to draw.”

Nick let out a hearty laugh, leaning forward and resting his forearms over his knees, “Well, I should have known you’d already figured it out – a few of the things I picked up from you came in handy on the case.”

“So, what’s the trouble?” Eli asked, turning back to the sunset and taking a long swig of ale, “Things hit a little too close to home?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Nick said quietly. They sat in silence for a while, polishing off the remainder of their ale. Finally, Nick got up to retrieve two more from the kitchen.

Eli leaned back, the paw holding his empty bottle resting on his stomach, the other over the arm of the couch, fingers tapping pensively a few times. He glanced briefly at Nick before returning to his study of the darkening city skyline. “You aren’t the type to let things get to you...were you extremely close to these mammals?” Eli asked.

Nick returned, passing an ice cold ale to Eli before resuming his place on the couch. He studied the mist rising from the mouth of the bottle for a moment before downing another long sip. He stared hard at the darkness rapidly enveloping the city outside his window, managing to catch the very moment when the street lights fired to life for the evening. “It’s not so much the consequences for Gideon’s family,” he said, “Although that’s bad enough on its own...” He paused for several seconds before he added, “Gideon was carrying this awful burden for nearly twenty years...I doubt he had any idea the damage it was doing to him and his family until it all came to a head, but looking back now I can see the little stress fractures it created...in the end it nearly destroyed him, his wife and his daughter. It made me understand that I’ve got a burden I didn’t realize I was still carrying.”

Eli studied Nick intently, but said nothing.

“Eli, I called you because I need to ask you for something...something that potentially puts you in a bad position. You can refuse, and I’ll be fine with that, but I have to ask...I _need_ to know...” Nick said, looking pained as he fought for the right words.

“Olivia Tinehead,” Eli said in a low but resolute tone.

Nick’s head snapped over, his eyes wide. Only a half formed utterance escaped his lips. For once, he was at a loss for words; somehow, Eli had anticipated his question and delivered the answer even before he asked.

“She’s a psychiatrist with a practice down town, not that far from the station, actually,” Eli continued, his incisive, dispassionate gaze still focused on Nick.

“H...how did you…?” Nick managed to stammer, “I never said a word about her since the Harbinger case!”

Eli turned his gaze back to the window with a pained half-smile. “I know what it is to be haunted, remember?” he said quietly.

Nick stared in silence for a long moment. At length, he looked down at the bottle clutched in his paw and a smile slowly crept across his muzzle. “Thank you, Eli,” he said.

Eli smirked, “Yeah well, you didn’t hear it from me, clear?”

“Entirely,” Nick said with a wry grin of his own, “You shouldn’t leave old case files lying around where sly foxes can sneak into your office and read them.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think it’ll come to that,” Eli said, “You might be surprised.”

“Hmmm,” Nick replied, taking a long swig from his ale before swirling the bottle pensively.

“By the way,” Eli said, leaning back and adopting an entirely languid posture, resting one footpaw on the edge of the coffee table, “I’ve heard some chatter around the office that there may be some positions opening up in Zooicide. Considered putting in for detective?”

“I wouldn’t be working with Judy anymore...” Nick said.

“That seems a foregone conclusion, Corporal,” Eli said, resting his head over the back of the couch and rolling it lazily in Nick’s direction, “Bogo won’t let cops of your caliber stay on street patrol forever. If you were a detective and she moved up the ranks in patrol division, you might be surprised how often you cross paths at work. You have a recommendation from me and Mundi – all you have to do is say the word. I bet the Bunnyburrow Sheriffs would give you a glowing commendation, too, after your little adventure.”

“Well, Judy’s back tomorrow,” Nick said stroking his chin thoughtfully, “I’ll talk it over with her and see what she thinks.”

Eli yawned and scratched the back of his head, polishing off the rest of his beer before resuming his languid sprawl. “Speaking of the missus,” he said, tapping his empty against the inside of his knee, “Did you arrange for a nice big bouquet of flowers for her arrival?”

A stricken look came over Nick and the hairs along the nape of his neck all stood up.

“Ha! No flowers for her homecoming?” Eli chided with a smirk, “Amateur. How long have you been at this marriage business?”

“You’re one to talk! You’re married to the job,” Nick shot back with a wry smirk before downing the last of his beer and plunking it alongside the other empties on the table.

“Mmmmm,” Eli said with a nod, “We’re virtually inseparable. She never nags me, and she keeps me in the lifestyle to which I’ve become accustomed.”

“Leaves you awful cold a night, though,” Nick added with a mischievous grin, “Turns out that bunnies are very warm.”

“You know, if you’re going to keep rubbing it in, I’ll need something to numb the pain,” Eli said, casting a sidelong glance through a half lidded eye.

“More beer?” Nick asked, punctuating his question with a flick of his tail.

“More beer.”


	7. How Sweet the Sound

_What is sacred? Of what is the spirit made?_

_What is worth living for and what is worth dying for?_

_The answer to each is the same. Only love._  
-Lord Byron

 

 

A low, rumbling murmur filled the air as Nick walked into the arrivals terminal at Zootopia International Airport the following sunny autumn afternoon. Despite the clear weather, a chill had descended over the city, causing mammals to bustle about in thick overcoats and scarves.

He had dressed up in the green three piece suit Judy was so fond of, his gold tie fastened in an immaculate Windsor knot. Contrary to Eli’s advice, he had opted to bring a single red rose in full bloom, a flower he knew Judy was especially fond of and whose symbolism he knew she would understand. He found himself possessed of a strange kind of restless energy, shifting his weight from footpaw to footpaw as he stood near the baggage carousels, his attention riveted on the escalator he knew would bring Judy to him. He smiled to himself as he reflected on the giddy excitement he felt at the thought of being reunited with his wife; in more cynical days, he would have scoffed at such behavior, but then again, that was before Judy.

The nearby carousel whirred to life, accompanied by a warning buzzer and flashing amber lights, signaling the arrival of the luggage from Judy’s flight. Nick was glad he had removed the thorns from Judy’s rose as he found himself tightly clutching the flower in front of him as the anticipation mounted. Suddenly, the first passengers descended the escalator, a press of mammals of various sizes, the largest among them a bull moose in a checked suit and red silk tie. The milling crowd spilled out from the bottom of the escalator, meandering their way toward the carousel that was at that moment filling up with suitcases.

Then he saw her; a wolf stepped out of the way, reaching for his bag, and Judy emerged from behind him, her violet eyes scanning the terminal with all the same yearning excitement as his own. She stopped short when their eyes met; there was a spark, and a smile spread rapidly over her velveteen face. A breathless moment passed, and then she began to run.

Unable to hold himself back, Nick ran too. They crossed the distance between them in three bounds each, then she leapt for him. He had long since learned to soften the impact of her powerful jumps by turning as he enfolded her in his embrace, completing a joyful pirouette in the instant of reunion before she slung her legs around his middle. She paused, her arms draped lovingly around his neck, one of his arms supporting her rump, the other tenderly snugged around her middle, and gazed into the eyes of her husband. He in turn lost himself in her amethyst stare, his heart thundering out a chorus of joy, longing and excitement.

The last thread of their restraint snapped and their lips met in a deep, tender, passionate kiss. Her fingertips searched eagerly through his fur, stroking up his cheeks, caressing the bases of his ears and finally finding their anchor in the fur at the back of his head. His paw slowly caressed its way up her back, fingers spreading to support her and draw her deeper into their sensual kiss. She squeezed her legs around his chest, locking her ankles together as their tongues danced and teased, savouring every moment of their sweet reunion. When at last the need for breath forced their lips to part, she offered one last gentle nip of desire to his lower lip, punctuating her show of affection with a satisfied sigh.

Slowly her eyes opened, meeting his once again. “I missed you so much,” she said, her voice a breathy whisper.

A few mammals nearby had begun to stare and murmur, but they were both far beyond caring. Nick smiled warmly and gave a small shake of his head. “You have no idea,” he said, a reverent hush in his voice, “I’ve never needed you more in my life...and I’ve always needed you. I need you more than breath.”

“You need to take me home right now, Mr. Wilde,” she said, an alluring smile spread across her lips. She emphasized her point by sensually rubbing with her thumbs inside the bases of his ears, right in the sweet spots.

His leg quivered and a thrill of pleasure shot through his entire form. “R—right now…?” he asked, stumbling over his words as he focused on not collapsing into a heap of jelly from her tender ministrations.

“ _Right now,_ ” she said forcefully, driving the point home by firmly squeezing him between her thighs, her paws cupping his cheeks as she stared into his eyes, making sure he saw the desire burning in her own.

His eyes went wide and he nodded rapidly. “Let’s go!” he said, turning and heading for the baggage carousel without even bothering to put her down. He would have run all the way to the car with her wrapped around his chest, a suitcase in each paw, had she not alighted with a giggle and taken the smaller of the two bags herself.

Nick had never so ardently wished for lights and sirens as during that drive home. He glanced over at one point to see Judy watching him intently, tugging at her lower lip with a claw and faintly writhing in her seat. When she let out a soft moan in response to his attention, he pushed the accelerator as hard as prudence and the discretion of traffic cops would permit, accelerating through more than a few yellow lights along the way.

~{∞♥∞}~

It began with sound and fury, the trail of scattered clothes, crooked picture frames, and toppled nicknacks from the front door to the bedroom a vivid depiction of the heat of passion that bound them to one another, but in truth, it came from a much deeper, much quieter place, a place of profound mystery.

Bathed in the sunset amid silken sheets, they felt their way along that familiar but always thrilling path. Each tender kiss, each sensual touch, each breathy, whispered gasp of need another step onward. His bared fangs caressed her throat, teasing the flesh beneath her ashen fur with a loving tenderness that defied the deadly purpose for which nature had bestowed them.

With paws as soft as clouds she played in all the secret, hidden places she knew so well, teasing with touches she knew would drive him further along that journey. With a mutual gasp of delight they came together, their bodies entwined, urging one another onward.

Bit by bit, with every motion of their dance, every gasp of breath, every loving caress, they stripped away the fragile veneer of the world, its fragments crumbling with each passing moment, until nothing else remained and they became one another’s only reality.

As they gave themselves to each other completely, losing themselves in the deep pleasure and joy of their union, they once again came to the mysterious place where two became one, their whole beings utterly conjoined in overwhelming intimacy. They lingered in that blissful, perfect moment of love, acceptance, peace, and joy, until it slowly faded, retreating to permit the imperious return of the material world that surrounded them.

The shadowed stillness was broken only by their quiet gasps as they gazed into each other’s eyes. His paws planted in the sheets on either side of her head, he closed his eyes as an aftershock of pleasure rippled through him, his tail instinctively lashing at the air.

She arched beneath him, releasing a faint gasp in response before tracing her paws softly up his forearms, slipping over the firm, sinuous curves of the muscles beneath his fur and flesh, her fingertips caressing his cheek in silent invitation to come closer.

Carefully, he lowered himself and drew her into his embrace, rolling on his back and letting her snuggle into the fur of his chest. She nuzzled under his chin, delivering soft, affectionate kisses that assured him she wouldn’t dream of going anywhere, even if it were possible. He drew the silk sheets up over her, sliding his arms around her middle and giving a gentle squeeze, as if to remind her that the feeling was entirely mutual.

They lay in peaceful silence long enough for the last crimson rays of the sunset to fade from their walls, content to feel the slow rise and fall of their breaths and listen to the rhythmic thudding of their hearts.

With a faint, contented sigh and a loving nibble under Nick’s chin, Judy broke the silence. “Want to talk about the case in Bunnyburrow?” she asked softly, her breaths ruffling through the white fur under his jaw.

He started slightly, the slow, rhythmic stroking of his paw up and down her bare back halting for a moment. He sighed and resumed his loving caresses, staring up at the ceiling fan above their bed. “Didn’t know you knew about all that...” he said, his voice low but steady.

“I did watch the news, dumb fox,” she said, watching her fingers spreading through the soft white fur that spanned his chest, “You sure you’re okay?”

“Shouldn’t you be more concerned about Gideon and his family?”

“I’m concerned for my husband,” she said, “From what I saw on the news, it was a tough case. You impress me with your detective skills, though.”

“It...made me realize some things,” Nick began, realizing in that moment how deeply he cherished the feeling of safety and acceptance she always gave him, “Gideon thought he had left everything behind when he buried Sarah in that mine, but the truth is that guilt and self loathing was clinging to him all this time. It nearly destroyed his entire family because he couldn’t face it for so long.”

“And?”

“There’s something I’ve been carrying around,” Nick said, slipping his free paw behind his head, his brow furrowed as he considered his words, “Something I thought I had left behind...I’m afraid if I don’t face it, if I don’t resolve it once and for all, it might come back to haunt me. I...I want to make sure I give you all of me—nothing held back, nothing hidden that might someday hurt you or our marriage.”

“What is it, Nick?” she asked, propping herself up on one elbow, watching his face carefully.

“I...asked Eli for the name of the doe that Jack kidnapped...all this time I never knew if she really got away safely, or if Jack or that bastard Grimm hunted her down later...”

“What did he tell you?” Judy said, searching his emerald gaze.

“She’s a psychiatrist, it turns out,” he said with a faint smile, turning to look deeply into his wife’s eyes, “Her name’s Olivia Tinehead. I want to meet her. I need to tell her I’m sorry. _I know, I know!_ You’re going to tell me I’m crazy, that it makes no sense...but I need to do this, Carrots. I need to ask forgiveness for ever being in that damn warehouse beside that psychopath.”

“Nick, what are you talking about?!” Judy said, a pained expression taking over her lovely features, “You saved her life! What do you have to apologize for?!”

“It was _my initiation_ , Carrots...” Nick said, looking resolute, “If it wasn’t for me getting tangled up with those freaks, she never would have been there in the first place. _I have to do this._ ”

She fell silent, studying him for a few moments. Finally, a faint smile broke over her lips. “All right, sweetheart,” she said, planting a soft kiss on his nosepad, “I’ll back you up. We’ll go together and you do what you need to do.”

He flashed a broad smile in response, shifting his body slightly to allow him a better view of her face. He gently caressed the base of her left ear, his thumb pad stroking the inner membrane. “What about you, Sergeant Fluff? You haven’t told me anything about your conference yet. Have a good time?”

“Oh yeah, it was fine,” she said with a half smile, “My talk on trans-national organized crime was really well received. There were a lot of questions about my recommendations for better cooperation between different agencies.”

There was something veiled behind her words, a tinge of sadness in her tone, underscored by the way she averted her eyes and her voice trailed off at the end. Then there was the telltale twitch of her nose.

“Something else on your mind, Carrots?” Nick whispered, caressing her cheek with the back of his fingers, drawing her closer against his body with his other arm.

She looked deeply into his eyes, searching for a few moments before she spoke again. When she did, her voice was hushed and ragged. “Well...do you remember I mentioned to you that I was feeling sick to my stomach during the conference?” she began, her paws pressed into the fur of his chest. She paused, swallowing as if she was bracing herself to say something.

Nick’s eyes slowly widened and a smile spread over his lips as he began to realize the implications of what she was saying, “You mean y—”

His smile vanished when she shook her head. There were tears welling at the corners of her eyes. A concerned look came over his face as he watched her, but he waited, studying her intently.

“I actually went and got tested...can you believe that?” she said with a sound that was half laughter, half crying, “It was stupid of me...of course it isn’t possible...but I guess I never realized how badly I wanted to be a mother. I convinced myself that maybe it was true, and I started thinking of how wonderful it would be.” She turned her eyes to his, smiling in spite of her tears, “You’d be such an incredible father, Nick.”

“ _Oh, Judy,_ ” he said softly, pulling her close and cradling her head under his chin. He felt wetness rising in the corner of his own eyes. He had never said anything to her, but the thought had crossed his mind a few times before. He had held back for fear of causing her pain, of reminding her of something she couldn’t have, but might desperately desire.

She nuzzled into him firmly, wrapping her arms tightly around his chest. When she spoke again, her voice had taken on a lighter tone. “I got to thinking about it, and I did some research into adoption,” she said, “Turns out there’s a lot of babies that need families, especially foxes, but also wolves, raccoons and mustelids...there are even some prey kids up for adoption too. From what I saw, I’m pretty sure we’d be approved, if you’re willing.”

He wiped his eyes with the back of his paw before drawing back enough to see her again. His broad smile had returned, and he pressed his nosepad affectionately against hers. “It’s a big responsibility, Mrs. Wilde...you sure we’re up for it?” he teased, his warm breath puffing against her lips.

Her response was to press her lips to his, slipping her paw behind his neck. She kissed him deeply, passionately, the caress of her lips and tongue against his speaking more eloquently than words ever could of the faith she had in him, in their family, to take the step of bringing little ones into their home.

When at length they drew back, they nestled down together, wrapped in each other’s arms. Judy tucked her head under his chin, her arm snaked under his and around his shoulder. He began purring, a deep, low rumbling in his chest that vibrated through her, soothing her thoughts and filling her with a feeling of pleasurable closeness. Her eyelids began to droop as visions of babies cradled in her arms began to flit across her mind’s eye.

“I love you so much, Nick,” she said in a faltering whisper, drifting rapidly over the precipice of peaceful sleep.

A deeper, louder purr was his only reply.

~{∞♥∞}~

The day began like any other for Olivia Tinehead. She strolled into the office at about ten to nine dressed in her favourite khaki skirt suit with a baby blue blouse, its collar left unfastened. She greeted her receptionist, a bluebuck by the name of Gloria, before stopping at the coffee maker. With a delighted smile, she poured herself a large mug of the fresh, hot coffee, stirring in a generous helping of cream and cane sugar before proceeding to her office to get ready for the day.

“I emailed you an updated calendar for today, Olivia,” Gloria called after her as she was about to pass through the door to her office, “Some officers from ZPD asked to have fifteen minutes with you. I figured it would be fine, so I scheduled them in first thing, before any of your clients arrived.”

Olivia stopped short, one hoof poised on the knob of the half open door, the other holding her coffee mug. She glanced back at Gloria over the black rim of her glasses. “ZPD? Did they say what they wanted?” she asked, at a loss for why the police would want to talk to her.

Gloria just shrugged and gave a flick of her ear. “Just said they wanted a few minutes of your time, that’s all,” she said with an air of nonchalance, “Guess we’ll find out when they get here.”

Olivia mused for a moment over the strange development. She could think of no reason the police would want to speak with her. She resolved to put it out of her mind until they arrived, striding into her office and closing the door behind her.

She was deep into patient files, having lost track of the time, when the buzzer on her desk phone sounded and she realized it had been over an hour since she walked in. She pressed the intercom button, rubbing her forehead and glancing at her empty coffee cup, wishing it had at least one more sip left in it. “Yes, Gloria?” she said, stifling a yawn.

“The officers from ZPD are here to see you. Sergeant and Corporal Wilde,” Gloria said, “Shall I send them in?”

Olivia furrowed her brow, surprised to hear the two officers had the same family name. Brothers perhaps? She flicked her ear, her curiosity piqued. “Sure, send them in,” she said, pressing the button again. She released the intercom button and watched the large double oak doors of her office with considerable interest.

A few moments later, one of the large double doors opened slowly, revealing a tall, slender fox dressed in the navy blue uniform of the ZPD, a forage cap with a mirror-shiny brim perched squarely between his ears. His emerald green eyes fixed on her with a strange look, a mixture of fascination, reticence and regret. The fox officer stepped aside, permitting his companion, a bunny dressed in the same uniform and wearing the same cap, albeit in a smaller size. As Olivia watched, the two officers exchanged glances, the bunny giving a faint smile and a nod before they both removed their forage caps and tucked them under their arms.

Something clicked and Olivia suddenly recognized them as the famous Judy Wilde, _nee_ Hopps, and her partner and husband, Nick Wilde, the first bunny and fox in the ZPD. She recalled that they had created some controversy two years prior when they married on the heels of a very high profile case that nearly became an international incident. She rose from her seat in shock that two such illustrious members of the police should decide to pay her a visit. She stared at them, nagged by a strange sense of familiarity with Nick, with those piercing emerald eyes of his.

“Ma’am, we’re very sorry to bother you,” Nick began, looking somehow vaguely hesitant in a way that belied his authoritative bearing, “I’m Corporal Nick Wilde, and this is Sergeant Judy Hopps. I’d like to just have a brief word with you, if I may, and then we’ll leave you to your work.”

Olivia furrowed her brow, shaking her head to clear the strange tinges of remembrance that nagged at her consciousness. “Yes, of course, please, sit down,” she said, gesturing to the two plush chairs in front of her desk which were usually occupied by her clients.

“I’ll stand if it’s the same to you, Ma’am,” Nick said. He paused, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes for a moment before he continued, “Many years ago, you were kidnapped and held in a warehouse by the docks by two mammals named Jack Hargrieve and Seth Grimm...”

Olivia’s eyes went wide with shock and realization; _it was him_. The moment he stepped through the door, she had felt she knew him, and now she was certain: it was the fox from that horrible night so long ago. She slowly walked around the desk, standing just in front of it, her hoof still touching the polished surface, as if to anchor herself.

Nick continued, “They kidnapped you because they wanted to use you to haze me into a street gang...I want you to know, I had no idea what they were planning until I first laid eyes on you in that warehouse. I’ve never been more disgusted with myself in all my life than in that moment...”

He faltered, closing his eyes briefly and clenching his fist to steady himself. After a moment, he opened his eyes, looking into hers as he spoke. “Ma’am, I...I’m so deeply sorry for ever having any part of what they did to you...I came her to ask you to forg—”

She was across the room in four steps. Her speed and agility took both officers by surprise, and before they knew what was happening, she had wrapped Nick tightly in her embrace. Judy stared in amazement, her mouth slightly agape. Nick’s body was rigid, his tail stuck straight out at a near exact forty five degree angle, his open paws poised in mid air. He was frozen, seemingly unsure what was happening.

Olivia squeezed him gently, her tears softly falling on his head. She was about a head taller than him, so that she had to sink to one knee to hug him, his head nestled into the base of her neck. She cradled his head with her hoof, holding him close against her as she spoke. “I was so afraid they got you...that they came after you for revenge...I’ve wanted to meet you ever since that night...,” she said, her voice broken with joyful tears, “...to thank you.”

“Th...thank me!?” Nick said, his brow knitted.

“You saved my life, Corporal Wilde... _Nick_...” she said, feeling that using his first name was somehow more fitting, “I’m alive today because of you.”

A deeply pained expression took over Nick’s features and he wrapped his paws around her arms, gently pushing back and staring into her eyes with grief in his own. “How can you say that?” he said, his voice hushed and ragged, “If it wasn’t for me, they wouldn’t have taken you...”

“If it wasn’t me, it would have been some other girl, somewhere, sometime,” Olivia replied with a warm smile, “And she wouldn’t have had _you_ to save her.”

Nick was stunned into silence. His mouth hung open slightly as he stared at her, his paws still gently wrapped around her arms.

“There are no accidents, Nick,” she continued, looking at him with an expression of unabashed admiration and gratitude, “Everything happens for a reason. Because you were there, I lived to see the next morning, and because of that experience, I decided to dedicate my life to helping victims of crime and PTSD sufferers. Your courage inspired me Nick...you’re the reason I became a psychiatrist.”

Nicks jaw dropped a bit lower, as if he was about to speak, but no words came. He stared at her, dumbstruck for a long moment before he pulled her into a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around her.

“Thank you...” he said softly, taking a deep breath to steady himself before drawing back, letting his arms fall to his sides. His expression had turned to a warm smile, and he slipped his arm around Judy’s shoulders, pulling her a little closer to his side. “I know you’ve been introduced already, in a manner of speaking, but in the interest of a _proper_ introduction,” he said, casting a sidelong glance at her as his smiled widened, “This is my wife.”

Olivia let out a soft chuckle, scratching the back of her head. “I hope you’re not too upset about my...um... _enthusiasm_ about seeing your husband again...I was taken a bit by surprise, and I was just so overjoyed to finally know what became of him after all this time,” she said with a bashful smile, realizing how unprofessional her conduct had been, “You’re a lucky bunny to be married to a bona fide hero.”

“Understandable,” Judy said with a smile, turning her admiring gaze back to Nick, “He’s my hero too.”

-~<0>~-

Two and a half weeks later, Nick was awakened by the buzzer of his alarm on a crisp, mid October morning. Stirring from a fitful sleep, he mashed the snooze button with his paw, sitting up in bed amid the silk sheets and rubbing his forehead. Instinctively, he reached for Judy, his paw gently coming to rest over the supple curve of her hip and lingering for a moment. He glanced at her, watching the peaceful expression on her face, the slow, steady rise and fall of the covers with each of her breaths, and the gleam of his wedding ring in the dim light of the bedroom.

With a deep sigh, he turned to throw back the covers and step out of bed when he was surprised by the soft touch of his wife’s paw over his own. He looked back at her to find her smiling up at him with half-lidded amethyst eyes, her own left paw softly stroking his, their wedding rings touching. “Worried about the inquest?” she said, her voice a sleepy whisper.

He nodded, Judy’s sweet caress eliciting a faint smile from him. “It’s the final day,” he said, “The coroner is going to pronounce the verdict…”

“I’ll go with you,” she said, throwing back the covers before he could protest. She knelt beside him, cradling his cheek in her paw and planting a soft kiss on the end of his muzzle, “You know I’ve always got your back, hot stuff.”

“Yes, yes I do know that,” he said with a faint chuckle before both of them climbed out of bed.

Half an hour later, they were about ready to leave. Nick was adjusting his tie when Judy emerged from the bathroom. His final step was to remove the Wolfther PPK from his bedside table drawer, inserting the magazine, racking the side and decocking the hammer before peek checking to ensure a round was loaded. Satisfied he was ready, he slipped it into the shoulder holster rig under his suit jacket.

He glanced in the vanity mirror above the low dresser, noticing Judy watching him. She was dressed in a classy blue skirt suit with a white blouse and a necklace with a ruby pendant he had bought her for her birthday a year ago. She had a small purse hanging from a narrow braided strap over her left shoulder.

“Thinking something might go down?” she asked, reading his expression as easily as an open book.

“I usually carry off duty...” he said, dodging the real question.

“Usually not in Bunnyburrow,” she said with a smirk, strolling up beside him and slipping her paw over his shoulder. “You’re really worried about Arthur Quickhatch, aren’t you?” she asked, giving a gentle squeeze.

“His whole life fell apart when Sarah disappeared...” Nick said, “If he decides that Gideon killed her...I don’t know that anything would stop him trying to take revenge.”

“If necessary, you’ll stop him,” Judy said, offering a gentle squeeze before stepping past him for the door, “Or I will. But for what it’s worth, I don’t think it’ll be a problem. Like you said, he spent a twenty minute chopper ride sitting across from Jenny and little Ashley. It would be a coldhearted mammal that could take that sweet little kit’s daddy away from her.”

“All the same, bring your gun,” Nick said flatly.

She cast a glance over her shoulder with a wry smile and a soft pat against her purse before she led him out the door.

The drive to the burrows was a quiet one, the Manta’s throaty hum providing a backdrop to the music playing over the radio. It was a comfortable silence; in two years of marriage, Judy had learned that there were times she had to give Nick space to let his mind work. Ever the quick witted conversationalist, there were nonetheless times when he would sink into silence, caught up in the flow of his own thoughts. It pleased her immensely to know that however deep in thought he might be, she was never far from his mind; often in these reveries he would touch her, caress her, or take her paw in his seemingly without even realizing it, as if his tender affection toward her was as natural to him as breathing.

She placed her paw on the console behind the shifter in silent invitation, and he slipped his fingers over it, engulfing her little gray paw in his own larger, rougher one. He said nothing, but gently stroked his thumb along the edge of her paw a few times. When she looked over at him, she found a subtle frown on his features, a look of grave concern.

-~<0>~-

There was a low murmur in the courtroom as the various observers and presenters took their seats. It was the final day of the inquest, so barring any unexpected submissions, the coroner’s jury would present its finding as to the likely cause of death in Sarah’s case, and any recommendations it might make. There was palpable tension in certain corners of the room, as any finding other than death by misadventure could mean a high profile murder trial for sleepy Bunnyburrow.

A hush settled over the gathered mammals as the judge entered the inquest. A rotund little mole, his shiny, well groomed black fur almost the same shade as his robes, sidled into the courtroom through a rodent sized door set into the wall at around three feet from the floor. He strolled along a catwalk that ran along the wall before striding around the rim of the judge’s bench, taking his place at a miniature bench set on top of the larger one.

“All rise, the Honorable Judge Gregory Moleman presiding!” said the bailiff, a middle aged timber wolf in a tan uniform.

All the mammals in the courtroom stood up, waiting for the judge to take his seat. He settled himself into the chair behind his miniature bench, adjusting the microphone to its proper place. Once seated, he cleared his throat and spoke into the mic. “You may be seated,” he said, the sound system amplifying his voice so that it filled the courtroom.

Everyone resumed their seats. Judge Moleman shuffled papers on his desk, peering at them through extremely thick, round spectacles, which he fussed with as he read. “Are there any more submissions to be heard, then?” he said, sitting back in his plush swivel chair and casting his gaze around the courtroom.

When silence was the only reply, he turned to the jury box, which contained the five mammal jury and the Coroner, a bobcat of about fifty, the fur around his face tinged with white and silver. “Mr. Coroner, I trust your jury has reached a verdict at inquest?” the judge asked, folding his broad, long-clawed paws over his stomach as he settled deeper into his chair.

“We have, your honor,” said the coroner in a gravelly, bass toned voice, “The Coroner’s Jury, in the matter of the untimely death of one Sarah Marie Quickhatch, declares the verdict of accidental death by misadventure. We recommend that the quarry where she met her death be remediated to reduce the hazard presented by the derelict equipment and the sheer drop around the perimeter. We do not recommend that the district attorney's office pursue charges, as a conviction is highly unlikely.”

An excited chattering erupted in the courtroom. Several mammals rose from their seats, including, Nick noticed, the Quickhatches. They turned and walked quickly toward the exit at the back of the room, disappearing through the doors. Nick shot a concerned glance at Judy, who nodded back silently to show she saw it too.

Gideon, who had been sitting near the front of the court, heaved a deep sigh of relief, wrapping his burly arms tight around his wife and daughter.

As he watched Gideon, Nick could hear arguments starting up in the gallery, some mammals upset with the verdict, others defending Gideon. Judge Moleman silenced the room by welting his bench furiously with his gavel. “Ladies and gentlemammals!” he barked, casting a steely gaze around the room, “The jury has given their verdict, and I will thank you to remain orderly! Mr. Prosecutor, do you have anything to say in the matter?”

The prosecutor a bunny of about thirty dressed in a blue pinstripe suit with a red tie, stood up, pushing his rectangular wire rimmed spectacles up the bridge of his nose. “The prosecutor’s office has received a recommendation from the Sheriff’s Department that concurs with the finding of the Coroner’s jury, and therefore no charges will be laid in this matter, your honor,” he said before resuming his seat.

“Very well,” said Moleman, tapping his gavel on the desk, “This court is adjourned.”

More murmuring, mostly reserved this time, filled the room as the gathering of mammals began to file out the door. Gideon and his family didn’t move until the room was nearly empty. Nick and Judy, who had been waiting for them, met them in the aisle.

“Congratulations, Gideon,” Nick said, holding out his paw.

Gideon, looking downcast, took it and gave a less enthusiastic paw shake than he was known for. “Thank you, Nick,” he said quietly, “You saved my family.”

“You chose to do the right thing,” Nick said quietly, “I believe that made all the difference.”

“We’ll head out first, just to be sure things are clear out there,” Judy said, looking from Gideon to Jenny, “Not everyone in Bunnyburrow agrees with the verdict, it seems.”

Nick and Judy proceeded out the door into the hall, leading the way with the Grey family several paces behind. They emerged through the huge front doors of the courthouse into blindingly bright late afternoon sunlight, squinting as they scanned the crowd gathered outside for any sign of danger.

Nick had taken no more than five steps down the broad staircase in front of the courthouse before a mob of reporters spotted him and rushed forward, shoving microphones and cameras in his face.

“Corporal Wilde! Corporal Wilde! Max Thrash from ZNN here! Word on the street is, you solved the case single pawed! Any comment!?” said a young raccoon with an unusual tawny coloration. He was dressed in jeans, a tee shirt and a blazer, the latter looking somewhat like an afterthought. He held the microphone just under Nick’s chin, a hopeful expression on his masked face.

On the other side of the stairs, Judy was trying to take up a tactical position to guard the doors, but another group of reporters swarmed her as well, all chattering for a comment from ZPD’s only bunny cop.

“No, I just…I was helping out a friend,” Nick said, casting his gaze around the area, trying to disengage from the throng of eager reporters that were blocking his path. He held up his paws, trying to get a bit of space from them. Just then, the doors opened again and Gideon and his family strode out, descending the stone staircase paw in paw.

A chill ran down Nick’s spine as he saw Arthur Quickhatch suddenly emerge from a black sedan parked at the curb in front of the steps. He was dressed in a long black overcoat and a dark suit, the billowing folds of the coat providing ample space to conceal any number of weapons. He strode across the sidewalk, his paws clenched into fists, his steely eyed gaze fixed on Gideon.

Judy hadn’t seen any of it, her attention momentarily diverted by a group of bunnies clamoring for her autograph. As Nick watched, Arthur walked straight to the middle of the base of the stairs, standing with his footpaws spread apart and his shoulders squared. Gideon, oblivious to his presence as he laughed at Ashley’s childish antics, was only three steps away from the wolverine when he suddenly noticed him.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Gideon, his wide eyed stare fixed on Arthur Quickhatch, instinctively pushed his wife and child behind him, taking yet another step forward to within arm’s reach of the wolverine, no doubt in hopes of shielding his family from whatever was about to come. Nick grabbed the grip of his pistol, sidestepping the reporter and weaving around him, preparing to take up a firing position. From the corner of his eye, he saw Judy whirl on her heel, thrusting her paw into her handbag as she too suddenly noticed Arthur.

He had just cleared his holster, but not his suit jacket, when he saw Arthur’s massive paw raise toward Gideon. Nick was about to snap the pistol sights onto Arthur’s chest and begin squeezing the trigger when something in his brain screamed at him to wait; he paused, his pistol still concealed beneath his jacket, as he focused in on Arthur and Gideon.

The realization came as an intense shock; Arthur’s paw was empty. A powerful hush spread rapidly over the crowd as all eyes turned to the fox and the wolverine standing at the bottom of the steps. Nick shoved his pistol back into its holster as he looked on, dumbfounded by what he was seeing.

“I spent the last eighteen years in Hell, Mr. Gray,” Arthur said, his voice loud and deep, but ragged at the edges, “When I wasn’t drowning my pain at the bottom of a bottle, I was agonizing over every nightmarish possibility of what happened to my Sarah.”

An agonized expression washed over Gideon’s features. His paws fell to his side as he stared at Arthur’s outstretched paw.

“Today, you set me free from that Hell...” he continued, “I finally know what happened to my girl. More importantly, I know she didn’t die alone and scared...she died in the arms of a mammal who loved her. You did right by her when you buried her, and you did right by her today, Mr. Gray... _Gideon_...what came in between is forgiven.” As if to punctuate his declaration, Arthur spread his big paw wider, reaching closer to Gideon. Tears glistened at the corners of his dark, steely eyes.

Hesitantly, with a trembling paw and tears in his own eyes, Gideon reached out and placed his paw in Arthur’s. They exchanged a brief but firm paw shake before releasing it.

Arthur thrust his paws back into the pockets of his coat, heaving a faint sigh. “Take care of this beautiful family, Gideon,” he said with a wistful smile, “Sarah would be so proud of you, son. Forgive me for not seeing what kind of mammal you really were all those years ago.” With that, he turned and strode back to the black sedan, climbing into the passenger seat. It was then that Nick noticed a smiling Ethel Quickhatch sitting behind the wheel. The car pulled away from the curb and drove off at a steady pace, disappearing around the corner at the end of the block.

Nick withdrew his paw from his jacket, rising to his full height from the shooting stance he had adopted. Judy dashed to his side, taking his paw and squeezing it as she looked up at him with a warm smile of love and admiration.

As she watched, a subtle, yet blissful smile spread over Nick’s features, his gaze fixed on the Gray family as they walked away down the street to their waiting car. “I’ve always prided myself on my ability to read my fellow animals” he said softly, “For once, I’m really glad I was wrong.”

“Case closed, then, partner?” Judy said, nestling against his arm and turning to watch the sunset.

“Case closed, sweetheart,” Nick replied, slipping his arm around her middle and leading her down the steps, “Let’s go home.”

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the ZNN Ranger Scout Challenge prompt to write a story about Nick going to Bunnyburrow and meeting Gideon Gray.
> 
> Updates may be a bit slower on this story due to RL commitments, but I'm really excited about it, so I wanted to share it. :D


End file.
